On The Brink Of Control
by ToryTigress92
Summary: He was the Master of Fear, she was the DA's thorn in his side. She hated and feared losing control, and yet yearned for it. And Crane knew how to use fear. This is the story of the rise of the Wolf of Gotham, the Master of Fear at her side.
1. Blue Eyes Across A Courtroom

**Why do I do this to myself? Get rid of one WIP and start another? I must be nuts!**

**And I don't need a certain annoyingly hot, sociopath of a psychologist to tell me that.**

**Crane/Rachel. Because I'm taking all that tension from the first film and twisting it as only a fanfiction writer can ;P. **

**Set during Batman Begins, after and during the Dark Knight. Lots of psychological stuff from my own limited knowledge and of course romance and angst.**

**And probably the most complicated love…square thingie in the history of love squares.**

* * *

**On The Brink Of Control**

_Fear._

Fear was his power, his drug, his true strength and his only weakness. Fear could freeze the mind, and grant power to the feared.

It could transform an insignificant, supposedly ordinary person into a colossus of darkness and terror.

Many people feared Jonathan Crane. Not because he was physically imposing, or outwardly brutish, but with one look into the icy blue eyes, it could be enough to make people veer away from him, avoid him, defer to him. He had authority, and power of another kind than the physical intimidation of Falcone.

His eyes were like whirlpools of thought, dragging in an unsuspecting observer, until they drowned in them. He could relieve you of your sanity with just one piercing, invasive look.

With one look, you were instantly aware of a cold, predatory intelligence considering you, analysing you, almost mocking you in your helplessness before him.

And so the Master of Fear was born.

He found out my fear, my one true fear, beyond the trivial phobias of everyday life.

My fear of losing control.

He stole it from me, taught me to yearn for the heady rush of freedom that he brought to my lips. And then he gave it back, only for me to give it to him freely.

Only to him, will I ever submit.

_Fear_.

It's my weapon now too. Ever since he tore me from society's clutches and opened my eyes to the reality of the world I had thought I lived in, shown me true brutality and cruelty beyond measure.

He ripped me from my idealistic ignorance, and tore me apart, and made me anew.

I have killed for him, I have betrayed and misled everyone I once cared about. He turned me from the light, and ensnared me in the shadows.

Why, I hear you ask? Because I loved him.

Now I prowl the night, sometimes by his side, more often alone only to return to his arms, and his seductive embrace. A wolf with her mate.

I am forever ruined in society's eyes. They believe me dead, and maybe I am. At least the person I was is long dead, the metamorphosis of change started the day I met Jonathan Crane's eyes across a courtroom.

I am free of society, free of its rules and its restraints. I mete out true justice as I see fit, the blindfold lifted from my eyes, finally able to see in the dark.

This is the story of the fall of an Assistant DA, of the death of the woman known as Rachel Dawes, and the rise of the Wolf of Gotham, the Master of Fear by her side.

This is no case of Stockholm Syndrome, some basket case that can be explained away, hidden in therapy and drugs to return to society's norms. It is so much deeper than that, so much more complex and enduring than a hostage feeling sympathy for her captor.

Love, I have since discovered, is no fairytale. It twists and warps your perceptions, prompts you to commit deeds you would never have considered in your waking moments before.

It drives you insane, but there is always reason in madness, just as love is madness in emotion.

This is my story.

* * *

For the hundredth time since entering the courtroom that morning, Rachel Dawes had to remind herself that she was a professional, and that under no circumstances could she stand and start yelling expletives and reasons why Dr Jonathan Crane was an idiot who didn't know what he was talking about.

Eyes studying him intently, as a predator would prey, she took in the sleek raven black waves, and the icy blue eyes in that chiselled face.

Her lip curled in disgust before she forced it into a neutral expression. Not quick enough.

* * *

Crane caught her disgusted look, felt an inward smile grow.

_She's a feisty one, Jonathan. Pity she's so idealistic._

True, too true," he mentally mused back to the voice of his inner self, before the judge called him to the witness box.

This was the third time in far too many weeks that he and Miss Rachel Dawes had locked horns over a witness box, as he declared yet another of her suspects insane, and therefore unable to serve their time in prison.

She was also far too intelligent, and worse yet, perceptive for her own good. Both a blessing and curse in this town, because unfortunately for Miss Dawes, she didn't possess the common sense to know when to keep her mouth shut.

The sunlight streamed in through a high window, illuminated the polished patina of the elegant wooden panels around him. It glanced off the bald head of his soon-to-be inmate, yet another thug of Falcone's who been caught with his hands dirty.

Crane wanted to sneer in disgust. Falcone was a fool, and an idiot, thinking that he was just his personal get out of jail free card.

If the idiot wasn't careful, too many questions would be asked, and the operation would be in jeopardy.

He glanced over at her as he leaned forward to speak in the microphone, her brunette hair shining lustrously, pretty features settled into a mask of indifference.

_Eyes on the prize, Jonathan…_ that familiar voice inside of him, the other side of his psyche which he rarely allowed to reign free and dominant examined the lovely assistant DA with disinterest. _Eyes on the prize…_

As if I need reminding, he thought derisively, before he opened his mouth to speak. "In my opinion, Mr Zsaz is as much a danger to himself as to others and prison is probably not the best environment for his rehabilitation," he smoothly rattled off, feeling a rush of self-satisfaction at the acquiescent look in the judge's eye, and the suspicion he could see, unhidden, in Miss Dawes'.

As the judge hit the gavel and proclaimed sentence, he felt yet more annoyance rise. He was tired of playing Falcone's callboy, constantly getting his thugs out of jail as if no one would notice.

He had to be more careful.

That fact was only reinforced when, while walking across the marble atrium of the court, a soft voice called him back.

"Dr Crane?"

Crane paused, letting the assistant DA catch up with him, as he turned to her with a polite expression. "Miss Dawes."

Unperturbed by the fact that he walked on determinedly, Rachel sped up to reach his side, her coat slung over her arm. "Do you really think a man who butchers people for the mob doesn't belong in jail?" she challenged, eyes fixed on his face searchingly.

Up close the man possessed a kind of cruel, sensual beauty that made her mouth go dry but she brushed the reaction away. The man was corrupt, in the pay of the mob, she was certain of it.

And the dismissive way he answered only enflamed her temper.

"I would hardly have testified to that otherwise, would I Miss Dawes?" his own voice was challenging and arrogantly dismissive, as she stepped in front of him, blocking his path. He glanced over her in a more cursory way than he could feel her doing the same to him earlier, taking in the slender figure shown to unconscious advantage in a brown suit and high-heeled boots.

The idealistic fire in her eyes was also so infuriating. He longed to grab her and shake her out of her carefully constructed world of black and white, and show her the real reality of the world.

The violent impulse surprised Crane for a moment, as he stared at Rachel.

"This is the third of Falcone's thugs you've had declared insane and moved into your asylum," she said softly, but the insinuation was there. Unflustered but wary, Crane retorted with scornful venom.

"The work offered by organised crime must have an attraction to the insane," he rebuffed her coldly, before turning and walking away.

The girl clearly didn't know when to give up.

"Or the corrupt!" she called, as he paused.

_She's persistent, I'll give her that. Getting a bit fired up, Jonny boy?_ his inner self questioned in his own voice, dripping sarcasm as he felt more annoyance wash over him. Without turning back to look at the perceptive Miss Dawes, whose eyes he could feel boring into his back, he spotted her superior, Mr Carl Finch.

"Mr Finch," he called commandingly, the older man pausing in his conversation to look over curiously. His face paled when he saw Crane and Rachel. "I think you should check with Miss Dawes here just what implications your office has authorised her to make. If any."

And without pausing to look over his shoulder, although he so wanted to, he walked away, knowing full well that he had left Rachel Dawes more infuriated and frustrated than ever before.

It had been the third time they'd butted horns, and he had to admit he enjoyed the spark of spirit in her. Pity that spark was directed in the wrong place, her naturally perfect nose poking into business not her own.

He would have to speak to Falcone.

As he emerged into the sunlight of Gotham, walking towards his car, a slight twinge in his gut made him pause at the thought of Falcone, before he shrugged it away.

It was necessary. She was just another of society's sheep, as brainless and compliant as the rest of them.

He would lose no sleep over her demise. He had work to do.


	2. No More Favours

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Crane didn't waste time chatting. As soon as Falcone and he sat down in Falcone's downtown office, he cut straight to the point.

"No more favours. Someone is sniffing around," he spoke directly, but softly yet the command in his voice was unmistakeable. Enough to make a thug like Falcone bristle slightly.

"Hey, I scratch your back, you scratch mine, doc. I'm bringing in the shipments," the crime lord shot back, his Brooklyn accent grating on Crane's ears. He idly wondered if the guy would scream in a Brooklyn accent too.

"We are paying you for that," Jonathan pointed out coolly, frowning slightly.

"Maybe money isn't as interesting to me as favours," Falcone refused to be put off, the man's tired eyes, no doubt from drinking too much whiskey and smoking too many cigars, boring into Crane. He inwardly smirked.

_As if a brainless thug like Falcone is going to intimidate us. If only he knew what those 'shipments' of ours can do…_

Interesting idea, Jonathan mentally concurred, and a potentially useful one should he become a liability.

Outwardly, Crane showed no hint of the mental discussion he often had within his own mind, as he leant forward, blue eyes settled relentlessly on Falcone's sallow face.

"I am more than aware that you are not intimidated by _me_, Mr Falcone. But you know who I'm working for, and when he gets here-"

"He-he's coming to Gotham?" Falcone asked, disbelief and something akin to fear dawning on his face. Wishing he could roll his eyes derisively, Crane kept up the penetrating stare he knew unnerved anyone ever subjected to it.

"Yes, he is. And when he gets here, he's not going to wanna hear that you've endangered our operation just to get your thugs out of a little jail time," he continued coolly, knowing that the crime lord's instinctive fear and respect for the mysterious Ra's Al Ghul keep him compliant.

It was written all over his body language, as clear as ink to the psychologist.

Falcone sighed, then inclined his head in acquiescence, as if he actually had a choice. It made Crane want to snort in contempt. "Who's bothering you?" he asked.

"There's a girl at the DA's office," he replied, unconsciously summoning up the mental image of Rachel Dawes in his mind, her slender, feminine body and the vivacious fire in her eyes.

"We'll buy her off," Falcone murmured confidently.

Memories of their little altercation in the courts filled Crane's head, as he smirked and shook his head. "Not this one."

"Idealist, huh?" Falcone shook his head, obviously pretending to think. Crane wished he would stop the act, it was useless. He already knew what 'solution' Falcone would come up with. "Well, there's an answer to that too."

"I don't want to know," Crane sat back, confident his work was done but that sickening, anticipatory grin on Falcone's face didn't fade.

"Yes, you do,"

* * *

A few nights later, Rachel was sitting on the metro line, on her way home, her mind full of two impossible men.

It had only been yesterday that she found her childhood sweetheart and former best friend, was not only back from the dead, but staying in Gotham permanently.

_Just like Bruce to not even bother to call_, she thought exasperatedly. When Finch had told her, her mind had been another impossible, arrogant male.

One young psychologist director of the Arkham Asylum.

The man ruffled her every feather, rubbed her up entirely the wrong way. One look into those icy blue eyes of his, and she felt her hold on her control tilt in the wrong direction.

For her entire life, Rachel Dawes had always believed that she, and she alone, was in charge of her destiny, her fate. Everything in her life, from getting into law school to getting that internship with the DA's office to actually becoming the assistant DA, all of it was because she was in control of her life.

No one else.

She had always shown control in stressful situations, never allowed her fear or her nerves to show, but with Crane…

The man could get under her skin with barely a toss of the head and a dismissive comment.

Sighing, she looked down at her nails, neatly trimmed and buffed. She didn't even know why she was thinking about the guy, when she should be thinking more about Bruce.

Her best friend, the broken young man who had run away from Gotham, was he still the same?

Had he changed?

Staring at her nails didn't give her the answers but as she looked up to stare at the city passing by, neither did that.

It only reminded her of the darkness spreading through the city, the fact that despite her idealism, the world was not black and white and she was fighting an uphill battle to change that.

Sometimes, when she was tired, she wondered if she would ever win.

The train slowed, and she stood slowly, grabbing her bag. As she walked to the doors, her eyes fell on a man sitting a few seats down, talking into a mobile phone.

The look in his eyes sent shivers down her spine.

Dismissing it as imagination, Rachel looked away and waited for the doors to open.

She didn't see the man stand and swiftly exit behind her.

The cold night air and scream of the train as it exited the station did nothing to help Rachel's sense of unease. It had started on the train, and it worsened now. She surreptitiously reached for the taser in her pocket, feeling a littler braver once it was in her hand.

She sped up, walking faster until she almost collided with a guy coming up the stairway. She tried to move to the side, but he dodged sideways too, shoving her back. She glanced behind her to see the man from the train advancing on her, and she spun, swinging her bag around and smashing him in the face.

_Guess all those self-defence lessons weren't for nothing_, she thought idly, as she whirled around again and held her taser towards him threateningly.

"Hold it!" she said, controlling her fear and keeping her hand steady as the thug stared at her and then behind her in disbelief. The thug turned and ran, and she felt satisfaction well in her. "That's right, you better run!"

She turned back to the other thug, but he was gone, leaving a strange man in his place, dressed entirely in black, cowled and cloaked. She yelped and jumped back, firing her taser more by accident than deliberate action, but the hooks failed to penetrate his suit, sparking ineffectually against the black material.

"Falcone sent them to kill you," the masked man told her simply, directly as she stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Why?" she asked, proud to hear her own voice was steady.

"You rattled his cage," the giant Bat replied, and she frowned. Maybe it wasn't just Falcone's cage she rattled…

Her saviour dropped some photos and a file at her feet, and she glanced down quickly. "What's this?"

"Leverage."

"For what?"

To get things moving," the bat replied, his eyes boring into hers. Something niggled in her brain, as she stared into his eyes, the skin blacked out so it looked like his eyes were staring at her out of great holes of nothingness.

"Who are you?" Rachel asked, refusing to be intimidated or to be pushed into something without a little information first.

"Someone like you. Someone who'll rattle the cages," he answered promptly, as she slowly bent down to pick up the files, not taking her eyes of off him. She glanced at the photographs quickly, but when she looked up, the giant bat was gone.

She slid the photos into her bag, glancing around wearily.

"Ma'am? Everything ok?" a voice called, and she looked sideways to see a police officer peering at her concernedly. She smiled uneasily, walking past him.

She wasn't sure everything was ok.

Falcone had sent thugs to kill her, but why? It had to be more than just rattling the cages…

Crane.

It had to be because of Crane. She had questioned him, questioned his motives behind his testimony, and if he was corrupt, what better way to stop her digging around than to have Falcone make her disappear?

With distracting ease, she summoned up a mental image of his piercing eyes again, and shivered.

She really hoped she never had to see his smug face again, or she might just decide to, just once, lose control and punch that pretty-boy face.

* * *

**I know a lot of this is still very much movie based, and a bit jumpy, but trust me the AU stuff is coming soon. Just hold on in there, I want to get to the juicy stuff too ;)**


	3. The Master Of Fear

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Unfortunately for Rachel, she was to see Dr Crane far sooner than she wanted.

Rachel felt a deep anger wash over her at the thought of Crane, and the corruption he hid so effortlessly from the world. She stared through the glass window of a cell, eyes watching the form of Falcone, clothed in an orange jumpsuit and strapped to a gurney, mumbling.

Always the same word. Scarecrow.

All she knew was that the man had been sane when he'd been arrested. In shock from having been lashed to a skylight, but essentially sane.

And now he wasn't. She was sick to death of Dr Jonathan Crane constantly making her life difficult by swooping in and declaring her perps insane, before swooping out again, dragging them to nice, cosy therapy in Arkham.

In a way she almost pitied Falcone. He'd gone from an almost all-powerful crime lord, to a broken, delusional crazy in less than a week. If it weren't for the things he'd done, she would _almost_ feel sorry for him.

But having two thugs try to kill you can really harden a girl's heart.

She heard familiar footsteps behind her, and she turned her head to find Crane waling towards her, arrogant and superior.

Refusing to let her hackles rise, Rachel turned to face him, refusing to allow his intimidating, icy blue stare to discomfit her.

* * *

Jonathan wanted to curse at the sight of Rachel Dawes, the very image of a young, vibrant DA in her purple sweater, skirt and boots. Her eyes were hard and expressionless, a sight Jonathan had long gotten used to seeing in the courtroom, but this time he sensed there was something more to it.

She seemed almost…_wary_. Warier than before.

When news came of Falcone's arrest, and Rachel's miraculous escape from her death, he had inwardly seethed at the idiot crime lord's incompetence.

He really didn't want to acknowledge that he had been slightly relieved to hear the attempt on Miss Dawes' life had failed.

For the life of him, he didn't know why. Just seeing her again sent a wave of prickly heat down his spine, prodding his formidable temper.

He readjusted his glasses, and inhaled deeply.

_Hold it together, Jonathan…_

"Miss Dawes, this is most irregular. I have nothing further to add to the report I filed with the judge," he began, halting a few feet away from her. Instantly her perfume wrapped around his senses, but far from making him want to gag, it distracted him for a moment.

But only a moment.

"I have questions about your report," Rachel said quickly.

"Such as?" he asked, loftily. He glimpsed the spark of anger in her closed eyes, and inwardly smirked.

"Isn't it convenient for a 52 year-old man who has no history of mental illness to suddenly have a complete psychotic breakdown just when he's about to be indicted?" she launched straight into her interrogation, her tone accusatory and probing. Jonathan wanted to roll his eyes.

_Here we go again. She's persistent, I'll give her that…_

She's a bloody thorn in my side! Jonathan replied to his other half. A thorn we can't afford to have.

_Pity…_

"Well as you can see for yourself, there is nothing convenient about his symptoms," Jonathan replied, his tone cool and repressive, brooking no question. It was so like the public servants to question where they didn't have a chance of understanding. They were all ignorant, pathetic excuses of humanity.

Even Rachel Dawes.

* * *

At that familiar putdown, Rachel turned back to the observation window, where Falcone was still muttering to himself.

"What's 'scarecrow'?" she asked, more for something to say than anything else.

"Patients suffering delusional episodes often focus their paranoia on an external tormenter, one usually conforming to Jungian archetypes. In this case, a scarecrow," Crane immediately explained, his voice slipping into that same lofty, arrogant tone he used in a courtroom. It made Rachel's blood boil, because it was just a mask, to try to confuse her into backing off.

No chance.

"He's drugged?"

"Psychopharmacology is my primary field. I'm a strong advocate. Outside he was a giant, in here only the mind can grant you power," he continued, and Rachel frowned.

"You enjoy the reversal," she murmured, watching him intently.

"I respect the mind's power over the body. It's why I do what I do," he replied softly, almost like a verbal caress. Rachel felt it drift over her skin, sliding down her spine like he'd done it with his hands. Breath hitching, she began to drown in those hypnotising blue eyes, becoming enthralled.

There was passion and power in those unrelenting eyes, and just a hint of the insanity he professed to fight.

It made her shiver.

_Get a grip, Rachel! Head in the game, he tried to have you killed!_

Or so her reason yelled at her, and she fought free with his hypnotic eyes with a struggle. Drawing herself up, she inhaled deeply. "I do what I do to keep thugs like Falcone behind bars, not in therapy," she snarled, walking past the psychologist and heading for the lift. She had to get out of there now, away from his eyes before her tenuous hold on her control snapped and she did something stupid.

The man just got too far under her skin.

* * *

"I want my own psychiatric consultant to have full access to Falcone, including blood work. Find out what exactly you put him on," she continued, a familiar tone of command edging into her voice as she walked quickly towards the lift. She was achingly aware of Crane turning around and following her, his eyes on her back.

Jonathan's mind raced ahead as he digested her words. Falcone would still have traces of the fear toxin in his bloodstream. He had to stall it, just long enough.

"First thing tomorrow, then," he murmured, joining her by the lift.

"Tonight,"

The soft word had him glancing sharply at the assistant DA, a slight look of triumph in her cold eyes. "I've already paged Doctor Lehmann at Country General."

_Well only one thing for it then, Jonny boy…_

Inwardly smirking, Jonathan reached into his pocket and extracted the key that would allow the lift to descend into the basement. "As you wish," he murmured softly, his shoulder brushing Rachel's as the doors closed.

He'd wanted to test out the new formula for his toxin. Miss Dawes would be a perfect experiment.

* * *

Rachel tried not to react at Crane's proximity as the lift descended down, past the ground floor. Her mind was niggling, telling her something was not right.

Why were they going to the basement?

She inhaled, breathing in the slightly smoky scent of the man standing next to her, rich, enticing.

It made her want to bury her face in those sleek, raven waves and just breathe him in.

_Where the hell did that come from?_ she wondered, desperately hoping she was still po-faced. _I hate the man!_

The doors opened, and Crane led the way out with a cordial, "This way, please. There's something I think you should see."

Rachel followed him uneasily, glancing behind her to the dilapidated corridor, feeling another shiver run down her spine, unpleasant this time.

Crane pushed open the double doors at the end of the corridor, to reveal a cavernous room, the metal piping bare and rusting, while on the ground orange-suited inmates were bent over worktables with masks, guards with automatics watching them closely.

She could also see another inmate pouring a vat of liquid into a water pipe. A water pipe that led to the rest of the city…

"This is where we make the medicine," Crane told her, resting his hands on the balustrade like a king surveying his kingdom. "Perhaps you should have some. Clear your head."

At the suggestion, steeped in menace, Rachel turned and fled.

Crane smirked. _Ah, the thrill of the chase…_

Sighing, he turned and followed, already reaching for the burlap mask in his jacket pocket.

* * *

Rachel felt pure fear as she rushed into the lift, pressing frantically at the up button, the doors closing in on her. But the lift wouldn't move.

She banged uselessly at the copper plating of the controls, panicking, wondering if Crane would follow her.

The lift doors opened, and she backed into the corner, as they revealed a suited figure, head encased in a poorly stitched, burlap mask.

Scarecrow.

Or rather, Crane.

He raised his hand, and white gas suddenly encompassed her vision, as she coughed at the acrid tang in her throat, her eyes and nose stinging. She coughed frantically, as the gas cleared but when she raised her eyes to Crane, she screamed.

Crane smiled down at Rachel's writhing, prone body on the floor of the lift, already mumbling and moaning.

"_Jonathan…"_ Rachel moaned, her spine arching wildly as he glanced down at her. Frowning, he knelt by her side, as she flinched away from him, and then twisted back again. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as she gasped for air. "_I can't…please don't make…me…lose control."_

And then the big one, the one that had Doctor Crane smiling evilly.

"_I'm scared."_

_So we finally discover exactly what does scare the indomitable Miss Dawes. Interesting development, eh Jonny boy?_

Indeed, he mused. A subconscious fear of losing control, coupled with fear of…him?

Somehow he doubted that one.

_More likely she fears what she feels, Jonathan. Has the ickle assistant DA got a crush on us?_ his alter ego snorted derisively, but Jonathan was intrigued.

I think it more along the lines of love and hate, my friend. Who know Freud could actually have a point? Jonathan grinned, reaching out his hand to gently stroke Rachel's cheek as she sighed and gasped under his touch.

He trailed his fingers sensuously over her face, trailing down her neck as she moaned and then flinched in turn.

"_Please, no. I shouldn't…I feel…this scares me!" _Rachel moaned, and Jonathan smirked. A very interesting development indeed.

Pity the dose he gave her was too high for her to recover from.

"Sir?" one of his hired thugs poked his head in the lift, as Jonathan withdrew his hand and stood gracefully.

Beneath the mask, his cruel smile was still very much in place.

"Bring her through."

* * *

Rachel didn't moan this time as two thugs lifted her between them, and carried her into the basement, Jonathan following, thinking hard.

So little Miss Perfect-Nosy-Stuck-Up-Assistant-DA lusted for him, did she? And feared it too? Feared losing control?

She could have been an interesting project, his lips quirked at the thought.

_Oh well, Jonny boy. Plenty more fish in the sea…_

His smile disappeared at the mocking whisper in his head. Wait a minute, you don't think that _**I**_…?

_Oh yes you do. Look who's in denial now…_

Rachel stirring on the slab his thugs dumped her on distracted him from his taunting alter ego, as he stepped forward.

First things first.

Rachel moaned, her body entirely beyond her control, arching and writhing helpless as fiery hands stroked and caressed her skin, sliding down her legs and up again, over her breasts and back ruthlessly, her body responding beyond her control. She hated that.

She couldn't be out of control, she couldn't!

To her horror and terror, words dripped from her lips like poison, the image of _him_ engraved on her eyelids, cruelly beautiful, mocking, powerful, hypnotising.

She was unaware of rough hands picking her up, of being carried down a flight of stairs and laid on a cold, concrete slab.

All she could see was _him_.

His quiet voice, whispering to her, his razor-hot hand caressing her relentlessly as she tossed her head weakly from side to side, trying to block him out.

Then she opened her eyes.

"Who knows you're here?" he asked, as her eyes fixed on the his burning blue ones, staring out at her from that mask. Gasping for breath, her mind slowly weakening, she could only scream when he shouted, "WHO KNOWS?"

The face in front of her was suddenly covered in rotting maggots, as she screamed and closed her eyes. She didn't know what was worse, the monster Crane, or the nightmare Crane that pressed scalding lips to hers in her head, making her lose control, ripping it from her and tearing it apart.

She couldn't break free.

* * *

Jonathan's head shot up, as the lights cut out. He stared around, ripping the burlap mask away, as he spun wildly.

He pushed a trailing lock of hair back, and smirked. "He's here," he breathed, almost chuckling.

"Who?" one of the thugs asked nervously, guns out and cocked as they stared around frantically in the dark.

"The Batman," Jonathan replied, as he smiled dangerously.

"What do we do?" fear was tangible in his thugs' voices as they glanced around nervously, making Jonathan snort derisively.

"What anyone does when a prowler comes around. Call the police."

"You want the cops here?" a particularly slow goon asked incredulously. Jonathan turned to glance at him amusedly before turning back to his search.

"At this point, they can't stop us. But the Batman has a talent for disruption," Jonathan called tauntingly, remembering their little encounter in the Narrows last night. "Force him outside, the police will take him down. Go."

"What about her?" the goon gestured to Rachel, who was moaning weakly on the slab. Jonathan looked down at her, feeling a twinge of regret.

Just a twinge.

"Oh, she hasn't got long. I gave her a concentrated dose. The mind can only take so much," he replied quickly, reaching for his mask and clicking a fresh canister of fear toxin into the dispenser on his wrist. "Now go."

"The things they say about him. Can he really fly?" the thugs were still scared, as he eyed them sardonically.

"I heard he can disappear," another chipped in, as he inwardly rolled his eyes.

"Well, we'll find out. Won't we?" he asked the empty air, stepping back. His eyes drifted to Rachel, piteously weak on the slab and felt that twinge again. Pausing for just a moment, while his men got into position, he bent his head and just gently brushed her lips with his.

She moaned, pressing against him before she jerked her head away with a whimper.

_Pity…_

"Pity indeed," he murmured to himself, before he backed away into the shadows beneath the staircase, sliding his mask down.

Time to face the Batman.


	4. Let's Get This Party Started!

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Rachel was drowning.

Her eyes closed, all she could feel were Crane's hands all over her body, inside her body, his lips pressed to her so she was almost suffocating. She arched and moaned, and sobbed from fear and desire, the shameful mix making her want to gag.

Every touch burned her, the hard arms carrying her barely impinging on her consciousness.

She didn't remember being placed in a car. She didn't remember the death defying ride, whisking her away from Gotham.

All she could hear was _his_ voice.

_You know you want this, Rachel. You want this so much, that it frightens you, makes you lose control._

_And that is what frightens you most of all._

Stop it, please, she inwardly begged, her head lolling from side to side. She felt so weak, so limp like she had no say over what her muscles did.

And her mind was quickly going the same way.

She opened her eyes blearily, fear making her heart pump faster, and her eyes jump wildly.

"Stay with me," a rough, hoarse voice commanded, as she looked sideways into a black mask.

The voice in her head wouldn't let her.

* * *

_How long have you been fighting this, Rachel? Every time we were together?_

_Every time our eyes locked across a courtroom? _

_Or how about when you stood beside me in that lift? Did you want to turn to me, shove me against that wall and make me pay for every time I frustrated you?_

No, please no…

_Yes._

Rachel's vision blurred, and she closed her eyes, deaf to the desperate plea of the man trying to save her. "Just hold on. Rachel!"

Rachel didn't hear any of it. She was immersed in her own nightmare and fantasy, as her body began to shut down.

_They were back in that lift, the walls closing in around her, making her pant. Crane shot an amused glance at her before he grabbed her, and slammed her against the wall._

_His hand was on her chin, squeezing hard, as she gasped and fought, but his grip was too strong._

"_You don't want to fight me, Rachel," he breathed, and her name was like a sensual caress, down her spine._

Yes, yes I do.

"_You can't fight me," he smiled, a vicious, carnal grin that made her stomach flip._

I have to…

_Crane kissed her hungrily and wildly, biting her lip until the skin tore and bled. She gasped and pulled him close, hands pulling at his hair, alternately pulling him against her and pushing him away. He crushed her hips against the wall, rocking into them with his own, hands sliding down her body._

"_That's it, my little wolf. Lose control," he breathed between kisses as she arched and cried out, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. He slid his hand into the hollow between her thighs, making her writhe. He groaned as her teeth punctured skin, her tongue wildly lapping up the blood, before he yanked her head up and bit down on her lip, before kissing away the pain furiously._

_Rachel gasped when she felt his finger abruptly thrust into her-_

Rachel was slowly aware of a fog settling over her mind, over that vision of Jonathan and her together, as she was pulled up and carried somewhere.

But more importantly, she was back in control again. At last.

She let her mind drift off into healing darkness, even as her body trembled in rebellion at being dragged from she feared and needed the most.

* * *

Rachel slowly awoke, eyes opening cautiously, almost afraid she would awaken to find Crane leaning over her, but instead all she saw was a rocky ceiling, and the screeching of bats all around her.

"How do you feel?" a voice suddenly asked, and Rachel turned her head to see the Batman, her rescuer at the train station, and seemingly the one who rescued her from Arkham.

"Where are we?" she murmured, mind alert even as her body still refused to cooperate. "Why did you bring me here?"

"If I hadn't, your mind would now be lost. You were poisoned," he replied brusquely.

Memories, horrible, torturing memories of the visions came back and she shuddered. "It was…it was Dr Crane," Rachel murmured, trying to sit up. She felt so weak.

"Rest. Gordon has Crane," the Batman laid her down again, as she stared at him tiredly.

"Is Sergeant Gordon your friend?" she asked.

"I don't have the luxury of friends. I'm gonna give you a sedative. You'll wake up back at home. When you do, get these to Gordon, and Gordon alone. Trust no one," the mysterious figure replied, handing her two small vials of liquid.

"What are they?" she asked, eyes darting from them to the Batman and back.

"The antidote. One for Gordon to inoculate himself, the other for mass production."

"Mass production?" she repeated. Her mind was quite able to keep up. The Batman stood, cradling her gently.

"Crane was just a pawn. We need to be ready," he breathed, as she felt the prick of a needle against her wrist, and then a warm, lethargy stole over her limbs. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she fell asleep.

* * *

Crane's mind was a battlefield. His body still shook with the after-effects of his own fear toxin.

_You're too weak, Jonathan. Let me take over until you heal…_

Jonathan wanted to snort in derision. I'm not that stupid. If I give you control, I'll never get it back.

_Just like your girl, then Jonny boy. Both of you scared of losing control._

Jonathan's face tightened with anger at the internal thoughts of his alter ego, and his fists clenched.

_Don't look at me like that, Jonny boy, you know it's true. Pity you destroyed her mind, we could have had some fun with her._

To distract himself from his infuriating other self, Jonathan's eyes wandered around the cell in which he was strapped to a chair, imprisoned within a straitjacket.

_I would say what goes around comes around, but then you're pissed enough already._

SHUT UP!_Yep, definitely pissed. Ironic, the good doctor is now the patient. The only chance we have of getting out of this, Jonathan, is if you let me take over._

No.

_Yes. I'm stronger than you, plus I don't have any of society's silly little morals still floating around my psyche!_

And I do?

_Ok, got me there._

May I suggest a partnership? Maybe it's about time I let go of these ridiculous shackles of society, and became who I really am.

_That is music to my ears, Jonny boy. Let's get the party started…_

I hesitate to remind you we are in a straitjacket, imprisoned within my own asylum. Gordon will no doubt be coming to interrogate us after his pet Bat told him what little he knows of our plans.

_We'll need to lead him in circles, infuriate him so he doesn't get anywhere._

An unholy smile lit Jonathan's face, as he stared vacantly at the wall. No problem.

* * *

Soon enough Sergeant Gordon walked into his cell, looking tired and harried. Jonathan refused to look him in the eye, as Gordon picked up his burlap mask from a side table and sat down with it, investigating it curiously.

"Scarecrow…scarecrow…scarecrow," Crane muttered, pretending to still be under the effects of his own toxin.

"What was the plan, Crane? How were you going to get your toxin into the air," Gordon finally spoke, his eyes intent on his prisoner. Crane wanted to roll his eyes derisively, but kept on with his charade, eyes fixed on the dirty tiles of the cell walls.

"Scarecrow…scarecrow," he muttered.

"Who were you working for, Crane?" Gordon asked, finally losing patience as Jonathan deigned to glance at him mockingly.

"Oh it's too late," he shook his head, despite the restraints. "You can't stop it now."

He smirked, enjoying playing the insane man imprisoned within his own mind.

In truth Crane was far more dangerous than that. He had long ago embraced his insanity, so it did not rule him. He ruled it.

Gordon got up, thrusting the mask at the guard in disgust before the cell door slammed shut.

* * *

Hours later, or so it felt, and the door of his cell cracked open and two guards dressed in SWAT gear stormed in.

The moment Jonathan saw them, he knew who they were.

One threw his mask at him, and he looked up arrogantly.

"Time to play," he hissed, before his restraints were cut and he was free.

_Let's get this party started!_

A wolfish grin lit up Jonathan's face.

Yes, let's.


	5. We'll Talk Again, Miss Dawes

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Rachel awoke, her head pillowed by soft linen, and she blinked as she stared at her wall.

She was home.

She glanced up, and saw the two vials on her bedside cabinet.

_You'll wake up back at home. When you do, get these to Gordon, and Gordon alone. Trust no one._

Everything that had happened since she left Bruce's house for the Narrows came rushing back, and she sat up with a gasp.

A minute later, she growled. Crane, the bastard, had poisoned her!

If she ever saw him again, she was going to throttle him with her own bare hands!

Determined, feeling strong and normal again, she grabbed the two vials of antidote and her taser; and headed for the door, only pausing to shrug into her coat.

* * *

As she walked towards the bridges, it was complete pandemonium. SWAT vans, riot police, mounted police and squad cars all rushed past her to the Narrows' bridge.

_It's started…_

Ignoring the familiar voice in her head, sending shivers down her spine, Rachel strode determinedly for the bridges.

"Whoa, lady!" a patrolman blocked her path, hands up. "We're about to raise these bridges."

"Officer, I am a Gotham City district Attorney. Let me pass," she cut him off, staring him down until he stepped aside resignedly.

_So society's puppy dog has some claws after all…_

Rachel didn't stop to think about the fact that she had Crane's voice in her head, whispering snidely, she just ignored him and ran on.

As soon as she was across, she grabbed a patrolman's arm and pulled him to her.

"Have you seen Sergeant Gordon?" she asked. The man nodded, and pointed her down a side street.

All around her, the police were grappling with convicts and escaped inmates from the Asylum, and she stared around wildly until a voice shouting made her turn around.

"Hey, Gordon! Somebody here to see you!"

She spun and spotted the sergeant, looking pale and drawn as he hurried across the street to her, dodging the fighting police.

As he approached, Rachel dug out the vials of antidote.

"What are you doing here?" Gordon asked, worry lines standing out on his still youthful face.

"Our mutual friend sent me with this," she murmured, proffering the vials. "It counteracts Crane's toxin. Hopefully you won't need it."

"Not unless he's got some way of getting that crap into the air," Gordon replied tersely, pocketing the antidote. "Better get you off the island before they raise the bridges. Patrolman!"

Gordon waved an officer over, pushing Rachel over to him.

* * *

Quickly the patrolman and Rachel hurried back towards the bridges, but Rachel could see that her bodyguard was uneasy, looking around at his colleagues chasing after inmates.

"Go help them. I'll be fine," she caught his arm. He shook his head.

"Sergeant Gordon said-"

"I will be fine, patrolman. Now go help your colleagues," she pushed him away. With a quick smile and nod, he dashed away. Shivering, Rachel pulled her coat closer around herself, unaware of the eyes watching her from the shadows of an alley.

* * *

_She's alive!_

Crane could barely believe his eyes, at the sight of Miss Dawes, alive and obviously mentally healthy, hurrying along a street in front of him.

_Batman must have synthesised an antidote from when we poisoned him…_

But why give it to Rachel? Does she mean something to him?

_Is someone getting jealous, Jonny boy?_

Jonathan rolled his eyes as he slunk back into the shadows, following Rachel silently as she made for the bridges.

Don't start that again.

_She's ours, Jonny boy. Now, at least, we can have some fun. You want her, I want her she wants us, so just take her._

Maybe, but we'll have to wait for the right moment to snatch her. When the fun starts, then we'll do it.

* * *

Rachel shuddered, feeling someone eyes following her intently. Knowing her luck it would be Crane. If half the inmates of Arkham were out and roaming the streets, then so was Crane.

As she walked quickly through the Narrows, she thought about what he had done to her, what he had unleashed that had been hidden away, unwanted and invisible before. She felt torn.

She felt violated, and dirty and unclean. She'd had visions of wildly uncontrolled, animalistic sex with a sociopath, something she wouldn't have even contemplated before the good doctor's toxin forced it out of her subconscious.

She would never let him take control from her like that again, no matter how good it felt.

He was poison.

As she rounded a corner, she saw an officer in SWAT gear impatiently push away a frightened little boy.

"Hey!" she yelled, running towards them, to see a whole group of SWAT officers clustering around some kind of contraption, a man dressed wholly in black standing beside it. "What the hell are you doing?"The SWAT officer held up his hand threateningly, as Rachel pulled the little boy away, safe in her arms.

"Gentlemen, time to spread the word. And the word is…panic," the man in black said, the entire group no longer paying any attention to Rachel or the little boy. She retreated backwards, eyes fixed on the machine that was no emitting a whirring noise, steadily building.

She had no idea what it was, but she would have bet her apartment and her entire bank account that it had something to do with the narcotics Crane had been polluting the water supply with.

Something to do with the fear toxin he'd poisoned her with.

Suddenly screams filled the air as manholes exploded, geysers of water vapour shooting high into the air, before descending again as clouds of impenetrable fog.

Rachel felt the little boy in her arms go stiff, his breathing accelerating as she realised what had happened.

Crane had dumped gallons of his toxin into the water supply, but it was an inhalant. Somehow that machine vaporised the water supply, releasing the toxin into the air.

And creating mass panic, fear, hysteria.

She turned and ran, taking the boy with her, people stumbling and coughing all around her, screaming, crying, cries of pain and despair.

Her heart was beating ten times its usual speed, but she felt calm at least. Seeing as she was probably only one of two people on this island in full control of their mental capabilities at the moment, she couldn't lose her head.

She pulled the now crying, frightened boy with her, trying to find a safe place to hide until she either found Sergeant Gordon, Batman or both.

Or until this whole thing blew over. She had faith her two allies would stop this, whatever _this_ was.

* * *

She rushed into a corner, shelter provided by a flight of steps leading up to a front door, trying to soothe the child in her arms, stroking his hair.

"It's ok, it's ok. No one's gonna hurt you," she breathed, eyes searching the fog wildly for any attackers.

Suddenly, the panicked scream of an approaching horse made her turn, as a figure rode out of the mist.

"Of course they are!"

She knew that voice, and even now it sent shockwaves of mingled fear and desire through her skin.

"Crane?" she said, incredulously as the figure became visible. If it was Crane, he still wore his suit beneath the straitjacket, flaring behind him like a cloak, his face covered by the burlap mask she dimly remembered.

Crane held up his hand. "No. Scarecrow."

She ran, holding onto the boy as she did, fleeing through the fog-ridden streets, pushing past escaped inmates and ordinary people alike as Crane pursued her.

She could still hear the hoof beats behind her, the screams, the cries for help as she rushed into another street, and crouched down beside a trash can and an unconscious police officer.

"There you are!" Crane's voice echoed behind her, as she turned and shielded the child. She felt for her taser frantically. "There is nothing to fear except fear itself!"

She pulled it out, getting ready as the horse Crane rode reared and whinnied.

"I'm here to hel-" Crane continued, but at that moment Rachel raised her arm, aimed and fired the taser, straight into his face. His words were cut off by a cry of pain, echoing and tortured as the horse reared, Crane collapsed on its back, and it galloped away, its rider still yelling in pain.

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief, feeling triumph well through her, along with a sick satisfaction. _That was for gassing me, you sick, twisted sonofabitch!_

Then she heard the shuffling footsteps coming towards her.

She backed away, pulling her charge with her, stopping only to snag a handgun from a fallen police officer, as several orange jump suited inmates emerged from the mist, eyes alight with sadistic delight.

One held up a knife, and she recognised Victor Zsaz.

"Batman will save us. He'll come," the boy murmured, and she wished she could have his faith.

She hugged him to her, burying his face against her coat.

"He'll come."

"Don't peek," she whispered, cocking the gun as Zsaz crept forward, brandishing the knife.

Then a black shadow dropped from the sky, knocking out Zsaz and pulling Rachel and the boy into its embrace. Rachel felt the ground beneath her feet drop away, as they soared upwards, and onto the rooftops of the Narrows.

Rachel sat the boy down, stroking his face and hair tenderly, trying to get him to calm his hyperventilating breathing.

"I told you he'd come," the little boy whispered, and Rachel smiled at the awe in the little boy's eyes. She turned around, the gun still in her hand, as she locked eyes with the Batman.

He inclined his head, before sweeping away. Suddenly compelled, Rachel stood and called to him.

"Wait!" she waited until he turned around the roof, questioningly. "You could die. At least tell me your name."

"It's not who I am underneath but what I _**do **_that defines me," he replied, and with a shock akin to a cold shower, she recognised her own words from a few days ago quoted back to her.

She'd only said those words to one person.

"Bruce?"

Before she could move, Batman turned and jumped from the roof, Rachel staring after him in amazement.

* * *

"Miss?" a small voice recalled her to reality, as she turned and went back to the little boy. "Do you think my Mom is ok?"

"I don't know, honey. When everything calms down, I'll take you home," she replied softly, making sure she still had the gun in her hand; as she settled down to wait on the cold rooftop above the carnage of the Narrows.

She glanced at her watch. Two hours since Bruce…Batman left her and the little boy on the rooftop.

It had been the longest two hours of her life. Screams reverberated around her still, and not long ago there had been a massive explosion over in Gotham City. She fervently prayed it was Batman and Gordon's doing.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up and took the little boy's hand, leading him down from the rooftop. The fear toxin had begun to disperse slightly, so the fog was not so thick and there was less screaming. Nevertheless, Rachel made sure she had her hand on the gun in her pocket at all times.

Apart from anything, Crane was still out there somewhere, and he would be beyond pissed that she had tasered him.

Following her charge's instructions, they hurried through the eerily deserted streets, towards one of the tenement blocks not far from Arkham, the occasional scream making both Rachel and the boy jump. They hurried up the stairs, and stopped outside one of the flat.

The door was open, and she didn't bother to knock.

The moment they were inside, she had to duck as a saucepan flew towards her head.

"Stop, stop! I'm not here to hurt you," she called, hands in the air to show she was no threat. The little boy peeked from behind her.

"Mom?"

The woman holding another kitchen utensil to throw dropped it, sobbed and rushed forward, thanking Rachel for bringing her son back. She smiled, and hugged the little boy before escaping.

She didn't even know that little boy's name.

* * *

As soon as she got out into the open air, if you could call fear toxin-infected fog that, she ducked into an alley and fought to control her breathing, feeling utterly exhausted and washed out. She wasn't fully recovered from her near brush with death thanks to Crane.

Which was why when she heard footsteps behind her, she didn't have time to raise the gun in her hand before it was knocked away and she was brutally shoved against the brick wall of the alley.

"That _fucking_ hurt," a voice growled, and fear flared inside her when she realised who.

Crane.

She could barely see him in the darkness, but she felt his hot breath on her lips, and was disgusted by how much her body arched towards him.

"Let me go!" she struggled viciously, but he simply yanked her to him and then slammed her hard against the wall, smacking her head. She groaned and went limp, still conscious, but her head now pounding.

"That's better, now isn't it? It wasn't very nice to shoot me in the face," Crane growled against her lips, as she fought to breathe while crushed against his chest.

"It wasn't very nice to gas me with fear toxin!" she retorted mockingly, regaining some of her fight as her head began to clear.

"Touché," he replied smoothly, and she could almost imagine the slight quirk to his lips she'd seen hundreds of times before.

"Give it up, Crane. You and your allies have failed, Gotham is safe," she snarled, pulling at his arms around her but he refused to yield.

"Then I'll have one hell of a consolation prize, Rachel," he purred, as her eyes widened.

He yanked her arms above her head, trapping them against the brick wall with one of his own, and pressed her to the wall with his own body.

"No-!" her denial was cut off by his mouth, furiously plundering hers, using her open mouth to slide his tongue in, fighting her own in a silent battle for submission. Rachel moaned, and fought weakly, but every buck of her body only pressed her closer to him.

Her mind conjured up those images of them together in the lift, the animalistic hunger and the violence, as he rocked his hips into hers. She couldn't fight, not when he'd already wrested away control without so much as a warning.

She felt his cold hand on her bare skin, sliding beneath her sweater and up, to cover her breast, squeezing it hard enough to leave bruises, as her conquered body begged for more.

* * *

Crane felt her submission, and purred in response. He released her wrists, using his now free hand to push her even further into him, needing every inch of her body against his as he kissed her viciously.

Rachel's hands immediately went to his hair, ruffling and pulling it roughly, making him groan. He wrenched away from her mouth, letting go of her breast to violently pull her hair back, making her cry out in pain. He bit down on her neck, feeling the hot blood rush to the surface but not break, as she writhed in his arms.

_So little Miss Perfect likes it rough, does she?_

Well that we can certainly accommodate.

As he marked her, biting the soft skin of her neck like a starving animal, she moaned and bucked against him, before pulling his lips back to her needy ones.

It was Crane's turn to moan, when he felt her lips slide from his to nuzzle his own neck.

"_Jonathan_…" she sighed, and he shivered to hear his real name drop from her lips, full of longing and need. He slammed her further back into the alley wall, making her cry out. He had never known lust like this, had never had time for it in his logical, analytical brain but she was driving him crazy.

Suddenly she bit down, and he cried out, her eager tongue soothing the red mark almost instantly. He pulled her head back, forcing her to look at him, their lips swollen and bitten, leaking red.

Realisation seeped into her dark eyes, and he wanted to chuckle at the mingled loathing and desire in her eyes. He pulled her lips back to his, pushing away any resistance when he heard the dim sound of police sirens.

Rachel heard them too. Ignoring how good his tongue felt against her own, how much the bite marks and bruises on her body made her feel owned, how much she wanted him in that dark, foggy alleyway, after years of frustration and loathing, she shoved him away.

Panting, they stared at each other from opposite ends of the alley opening, warily like two predators dancing around each other.

Crane glanced at the approaching police sirens, then back at Rachel guessing what she was about to do.

"Don't," he growled warningly, but her jaw firmed and she opened her mouth.

"Over here!" she yelled, just as his body crashed into hers. Her back hit the alley wall for the third time that night, aching and sore. "Will you quit doing that!"

Before she could say another word, his lips came down hard on hers again, and she was unable to do anything but moan under his dominant kiss and possessing hands until he straightened.

"We'll talk again, Miss Dawes," he hissed, as the sirens came nearer, and she glanced towards them. She looked back, and he was gone.

She stared into the dark alley, heart pounding, blood boiling, as she backed against the wall and slid down.

What the hell had she done?


	6. The Doctor Is In

On The Brink Of Control

**Oh wonderwoundedhearers, I do dare ;)**

* * *

It had been four months since that night. The fear toxin had dispersed, Wayne Tower was repaired and the monorail rebuilt. There was a new Director at Arkham, and dozens of corrupt officials had been brought in and put away.

The image of the Batman hung in the night sky like a constant warning to anyone who had malevolent intent on the streets, a silent guardian over the city.

Rachel glanced up at it as she got out of the cab.

"Hey, wait a minute," Harvey Dent poked his head out of the window, and she smiled as she turned back to him. She bent down and kissed him tenderly, before pulling away. "You ok, Rachel?" he asked, handsome face furrowed in concern.

"Yeah, just tired from work. I'll see you tomorrow, Harvey," she sighed, pulling her coat further round herself.

Harvey and Rachel had been going out two months, and he was everything she could ever have dreamed of. He was funny and smart, good-looking and moral.

He was everything she had ever wanted, until Jonathan Crane.

* * *

It had been four months since they had kissed in that foggy alley, and there had been no sign. Whispers, yes, of the Scarecrow, but no sign of him so far. He had eluded capture, and all but disappeared.

Until tonight.

That night, just as she left the office for her dinner date with Harvey, she had found a single scarlet rose on her desk, bound with a scrap of burlap sacking.

The Scarecrow.

For months now, Rachel had almost obsessively kept a scrapbook of newspaper clippings and eyewitness reports, of every sighting and encounter with Jonathan Crane.

Somehow she doubted he would just leave her alone, not after that kiss.

He had a score to settle.

She fought to control her nerves, as she rode the lift up to her apartment, fumbling for her taser gun in her pocket while she clutched the rose in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she walked out as the lift doors opened.

She managed to get her key in the lock and turn it, opening her apartment door.

* * *

It was dark, and deadly quiet, inside; the moonlight streaming in through the uncovered windows of the hall.

Cautiously, Rachel put her bag on the side, clutching her taser and the rose in one hand, ready to fire at the first sign of an intruder. She edged into the living room, and stopped.

The window by the fire escape was open.

She was vaguely aware of a tiny movement in the air, a whisper of heavy breath as she ducked and spun around, narrowly missing the heavy arm that had nearly come down around her neck.

She fired her taser, feeling a slight surge of satisfaction as the thug dropped to his knees, screaming and jerking uncontrollably.

She dropped the taser as she heard another body move behind her, turning and lashing out with her fist, only for it be encased in another fist, strong and cold with elegant fingers that easily wrapped around her own.

She gasped and met the burning blue eyes of the Scarecrow through his burlap mask.

"Hello, Rachel. Long time no see," he breathed.

* * *

Crane smiled beneath the mask as he looked down on the woman he hadn't been able to stop obsessing over since he left her in that alley. It had taken four months to prepare, but finally he was ready to claim what was his. When he was finished with her, she would beg for his touch.

He glimpsed the red rose she held in her hand, as two of his thugs melted from the shadows and took her arms roughly.

"Ah ah, careful now boys," he murmured, when she struggled viciously. "This one has claws."

Her hair fell to the side and he felt a wave of possessiveness when he glimpsed the slowly fading mark on her neck from his mouth. He wore hers on his own throat.

He moved closer slowly, taking off his mask. "You don't seem surprised to see me, Rachel."

"You're like a bad penny. You just keep on showing up," she spat out, eyes alive with fire. He shuddered, but didn't let it show as he smiled cruelly.

"I've missed you," he chuckled, stepping close and gesturing to his thugs to back off. Her eyes widened, before they hardened.

"Can't say the same, Crane," she hissed, and he only smirked more.

"New boyfriend? Better than the old one, Dent at least has an ounce of intelligence unlike Wayne. Oh yes, I know about Wayne," he added smugly at her look of surprise. "You didn't think I would just let you go, did you Rachel? I've been preparing, watching you all this time, making sure nothing harms what is mine."

"I am not yours," she growled, but he stepped close before she could move back. In defence, she jerked her knee up into his groin, making him double over in pain, groaning. His men grabbed her again, but he waved them away as he waited for the pain to dispel, straightening slowly. She watched him with a slight show of trepidation in her dark eyes, and he grinned.

She was wary of him. Good.

In an inhuman show of speed, he reached out and grabbed Rachel by her hair, forcing her head back and dragging her close. She cried out, and he saw fear bleed into her eyes, sending a rush of arousal through him.

"Dear, dear Rachel, you're looking a little…_fearful_. Didn't anyone tell you the only way to destroy fear is to face it?" he asked in a deadly whisper, making his prisoner shiver. He grinned imperceptibly.

So far so good.

"Didn't anyone tell you what happens to psychopaths like you? They get committed," she replied fiercely, and he chuckled, shaking his head as if she were a slow pupil.

"Actually Rachel, by definition I am a sociopath, not a psychopath. Believe me there is a difference," he corrected her, and he saw the flare of temper in her eyes. Unable to resist, he bent his head and kissed her deeply, moaning at the sweet taste of her lips as she shuddered.

She couldn't fight him, couldn't keep him out as she sank against him despite his hold on her hair but suddenly he felt her teeth on his bottom lip, biting it hard. He pulled back, gently examining the wounded flesh and staring disinterestedly at the blood on his fingertip.

"We'll have plenty of time for that later, my little wolf," he growled, looking back at her. He saw her swallow heavily, as he released her and walked away.

He picked up the scrapbook of newspaper clippings and smiled, glancing over at Rachel derisively.

"I wonder does little ol' Harvey know about this? Your little obsession with the Scarecrow?" he mused aloud, flicking through the pages of neatly cut and glued newspaper articles.

"Leave Harvey out of this," she snarled, and he felt his own hackles rise.

For months he'd had to endure reports of his Rachel prancing around with that idiot of a DA. The man was nothing, yet another of society's sheep that would drain that small spark of spirit inside Rachel, and mould her into his image forever.

Whereas he…he would set her free.

* * *

He slapped the scrapbook shut crisply, setting it down on her coffee table as he walked slowly towards her.

"Out. All of you," he snapped to his men. They shifted uneasily.

"But sir-"

"I said out!" he snapped, turning to them wildly, the suit jacket he wore swinging wide enough for the moonlight to glint off the capsules of fear toxin he wore at his belt.

The thugs all filed out, the door closing behind them as Rachel watched Crane closely, waiting for his inevitable pounce.

"You know, for someone who professes to hate me and others like me, you were rather heated in that alleyway," he began, almost conversationally and she scrambled to catch up.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she murmured quietly, staying as still as possible as he began to circle her.

"Yes, you do. I still have the mark of your teeth in my neck, Rachel," he whispered against her neck. "You lost your precious control in that alleyway."

"I don't-" she began but his arms sliding around her waist stopped her voice.

"Yes, you do. When I gassed you, my fear toxin was supposed to force your greatest fears from the depths of your subconscious, but it did much, much more than that. It exposed your greatest desires as well, to me and to yourself. You desire_ me_, but you also desire so much more than that," he continued his verbal torture, sliding his hands over her abdomen, sliding them up then down torturously slow.

Rachel shuddered, but couldn't summon up a single shred of resistance, not even when she felt her shirt being dragged from her skirt, his cold hands sweeping beneath to covetously caress the soft skin.

"You desire the loss of control, of forgetting who you are, who society has made you into. You want it, yet you fear it. Your greatest fear is your greatest desire," he breathed in her ear, feeling her sink against him with a groan. Every instinct in his body was urging him to throw her to the floor and sink into her, finally claim her from society forever.

A shivering cry escaped from Rachel's lips when his hands slid beneath the waistband of her skirt, trailing purposefully to the juncture of her thighs. With a scientist's precision, he teased the silken folds, making her gasp and squirm in his arms, setting fires beneath her skin.

"Luckily for you, I'm here to help. The Doctor is in," he chuckled wickedly, and she moaned, deep in her throat. Taking one of his hands from her, he grabbed the hair at her forehead and pulled her head back so she had no choice but to look at him in the eyes.

"I want you to look at me, Rachel, my little wolf. I want to look and see _who _is making you lose control," he growled, before roughly taking her lips, then her mouth, sliding his tongue in dominantly, not allowing any resistance. At the same time, she felt his finger slide into her, filling her a little.

* * *

Rachel gasped, aching, as the throbbing in her lower stomach and back coalesced, growing more and more with every slow thrust, every swipe of his tongue against hers.

But she couldn't. This was _Crane_, the Scarecrow, a wanted man. He was corrupt and immoral and stood for everything she had ever fought against. She couldn't.

She wrenched her lips free, panting heavily, fighting weakly against his grip, which transferred to her breast, grasping the heavy flesh tightly, leaving imprints of his fingers even through the silk of her blouse.

"Jonathan please don't…I can't. I can't…please don't make me lose c-control. I can't," she stammered, hardly able to think coherently through the pleasure his hands were forcing on her. "Stop!"

"No, not when you want this so much, Rachel. And I want this for you," Jonathan murmured huskily, his own need building almost past endurance.

Rachel's lips parted in an endless, silent scream as his fingers found a sensitive spot within her, pressing down on it viciously, his fingers claiming her breast, his hot breath on her cheek.

Abruptly the heat in her body turned into a supernova in her core, and she felt her body lose all coherence as she cried out, her ecstasy drowned in Jonathan's kiss as he drank it in. She writhed in his arms, feeling fear and longing mix and coagulate in her blood.

She lost control.

* * *

Crane felt pure satisfaction as his Rachel slumped in his arms, physically sated and wrung out. He withdrew his fingers reluctantly from her molten heat, catching her up in his arms and laying her on her sofa. He smoothed her sweaty hair from her face, looking down into her eyes.

All was going according to plan.

He slipped a syringe of sedative from his pocket, and inserted it into her arm. After her orgasm, he doubted she would need it, but better safe than sorry.

After the syringe was empty, he discarded it carelessly, Rachel's eyes fluttering uselessly as she fought the sedative.

"Don't fight it, Rachel," he whispered, her fingers weakly clinging to him as she slipped into unconsciousness. He pressed a kiss to her lips before swinging her into his arms, his slender arms holding her with a strength belied by his lanky frame. For a moment his eyes darkened, as he looked down on the unconscious assistant DA in his arms.

_Mine_.

_Ours, Crane, ours. _

_No, Scarecrow. _"Mine."

As he walked out into the hall, he glanced back dismissively at his men. "Burn it. Destroy all traces." he growled, before walking into the lift, Rachel lying limply in his arms.

* * *

**I think you're going to have to buy more ice, wonderwoundedhearers. Heck knows I need it, and I'm writing the damn thing!**


	7. Imprisonment

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Rachel groaned, feeling like her head was on fire and yet stuffed with wool at the same time. She felt rough material beneath her cheek, as she lifted her head, eyes blinking owlishly.

Where was she?

The last thing she remembered was getting out the cab with Harvey. Her limbs felt like soft gelatine, and she really didn't want to move, didn't want to lose the peace in her body.

But how did she get here?

Where was she?

Groaning, she forced her eyelids up; shaking her head as the world around her slowly swam into focus.

She was lying on a cot, in a bare plastered room, with no windows and only one door, a heavy wooden one bound with iron. The only other things in the room with her were a toilet and a television set, a paper note fluttering on its surface.

Rachel manoeuvred herself off the cot, her head spinning as she leant forward and plucked the Post-It note from the television's screen.

_**Turn Me On**_

The handwriting was vaguely familiar, as she frowned, trying to concentrate through the cotton wool in her head. Usually the only time she ever felt this languorous was after…

Memories rushed back, of elegant fingers and domineering lips, burning blue eyes and raven black hair.

"Crane," she growled under her breath. Ignoring the note, she scrambled to her feet, already going to the door. She pressed against it, searching for weakness before kneeling down by the lock.

No key.

She fumbled through her hair for a hairpin, but realised too late that Crane had removed all her hair grips, and everything on her that could be used as potential weapon.

Smart.

Gritting her teeth in frustration, she went back to the television set, exhaling heavily as she gazed at its concave screen.

_Oh well, nothing else I can do,_ she mentally shrugged, turning it on.

Her face drained of blood, and her hands began to shake as she took in what the news reporter was saying, showing images of a burnt out apartment, and Harvey…and her face.

_The fire brigade was called to this apartment building late Thursday night. While residents of the lower properties managed to escape the blaze, a corpse was recovered from the ruins of the top floor apartment._

_While the corpse remains unidentified, there are fears that it is the body of Rachel Dawes, Assistant DA, who has been missing for three days. Eyewitness statements claim they saw Miss Dawes enter her apartment, shortly before the fire began._

_Ongoing investigations by the Gotham Police Department are trying to ascertain the origin of the fire._

Rachel gripped the television with her bare hands, the knuckles turning white as she began to hyperventilate.

A horribly familiar voice began to speak, and she shivered, her eyes closing.

"See how easy it is to lose control of your life, Rachel? How easily I took it away from you…" his silky voice whispered in her ear, and she stiffened. She hadn't even heard him come in.

"They'll find me. They won't believe whatever trick you've cooked up, Batman will-" she tried to protest but Crane's harsh laugh cut her off.

"Batman won't be doing anything. No one is coming for you, Rachel. You're dead to the world, a clean slate. You can either linger in the shadows of your old life, or go on and forge a new one," he replied, his hands descending on her shoulders and squeezing once in what she guessed was supposed to be a comforting way. It just made her shudder with revulsion.

"They'll come for me," she repeated, trying to believe her own words.

"You're choosing the former, I see. I always knew it would never be the easy way with you, Rachel Dawes," Crane sighed in her ear, and she shuddered again as his lips pressed ardently to her neck, where she knew his mark was.

It was only when the pressure on her shoulders disappeared, and his warm breath in her ear stopped that she realised he was gone.

She opened her eyes, shifting on her sore knees, still dressed in her work clothes and boots, and gazed at the solidly locked door.

She was a prisoner, and Crane had killed her.

_They'll come for me. They'll know it's a trick, and they'll come…_

* * *

Rachel had no idea how much time passed outside her windowless prison. Food was delivered three times a day by various men, some of whom she recognised from Arkham as former inmates. She ate when they did, slept, and walked almost obsessively around her cell, looking for cracks, weaknesses, any way of breaking out of her prison.

There was none.

* * *

She knew why he had done this. She knew enough about psychology to know he was forcing her to face her fear, losing control, not just of her body but of her life. He was taking everything from her, trying to break her.

She feared he was succeeding. The hope that Bruce, or Harvey might find her was slowly dying. She didn't even know where _here_ was.

She hadn't seen Jonathan since that morning she first awoke. At this point, she would take even his company over the brainless thugs that visited her three times a day to bring her food.

* * *

One day the television flickered abruptly into life, a news station slowly coming into focus through the static. Rachel's head whipped around, lank hair flying limply through the air, as she scrambled towards it and knelt.

The news reporter from before came into view, and she felt her heart sink.

_Today Gotham mourns for the death of its Assistant DA, Rachel Dawes. Evidence confirmed last week that the body found in the burnt out apartment belonging to Miss Dawes was in fact, her._

_Today her funeral is taking place at Gotham Cemetery, where she is to be cremated. Her mother and the DA, Harvey Dent, all thank the public for their condolences and messages of support at this difficult time…_

Rachel felt her world tilt. She began hyperventilating, fingers pawing uselessly against the television screen.

_I'm not dead, I'm not dead, I'm not dead!_

It wasn't until she felt the burning pain in her throat, and the hot trickle of tears down her cheek that she realised she'd screamed those words aloud.

"Please stop this. Please, don't do this to me. Don't do this, please," she gasped, her arms going around herself as she rocked back and forth on her knees.

Ice cold hands suddenly gripped the rise of her shoulders, and she knew who it was.

"They've abandoned you, Rachel. Your mother, Wayne, Dent, Gordon all of them. They all think you're dead, your life destroyed. You've lost control," he murmured coldly in her ear, as she shivered.

"No," she shook her head.

"Yes!" he hissed back, emotions creeping into his voice as he forced her to face him. "Don't you see, Rachel? You're dead to them, to society. If they truly cared, they would have picked up on the clues I left, to show you were still alive. They wouldn't have believed those witnesses I bribed to say they didn't see you leave your apartment before the fire. Don't you see, society cares nothing for its heroes, those idiots it moulds into its useful tools. The moment they cease to be useful, or disappear, they just drop them and move on."

"NO!" she screamed, hitting his chest with her fists, wildly striking out without really being able to see through the steaming veil of tears. "NO!"

She flung away from Crane, getting to her feet and rushing for the door, but it was still locked. She hit it, fists thumping against its unforgiving wooden surface, bloodying her knuckles.

She felt like she was choking, not just Crane's poisonous voice telling her she had lost control, that her life was over.

_It's over…stop fighting, you pathetic sheep…You lost control, this is your own fault…society, your precious ideals have all deserted you…_

"No, no, no, no," she sobbed, sliding down the door to her knees. She was dimly aware of Crane approaching her, as she gazed up at him through red eyes and tangled hair. He dropped to his knees, tilting her chin up forcefully so she had no choice but to look into his eyes.

"You have nothing left now, Rachel…except me. Don't fight that feeling inside you, embrace it. Use it!" he snarled, as she shook her head in denial. He flung her away and she collapsed back onto the floor, her body one aching mass of pain and tears, as she clawed at the floor.

She felt empty…broken…limp. A jagged puzzle with nothing left to put it back together.

She didn't belong anywhere anymore. Everything had abandoned her, her ideals, her precious remnants of normality, her mother, her friends, Harvey, Bruce…

She felt angry, sad, in pain, full of loathing and hatred and revulsion.

It scared her.

"Embrace it, Rachel!" Crane's voice snarled above her, and before she could swallow it back, a haunting, piercing cry broke from her chapped lips, like a mournful howl rising to the ceiling above.

Crane smiled. He had never seen anything so beautiful, so broken, so perfect. At last she was breaking free of society's shackles. There was a long way to go, but finally it was starting.

Rachel screamed until she could scream no more, feeling peace settle over her like a catharsis.

Emotionally wrung out, exhausted and drained she slumped forward, expecting to feel the cold floor against her cheek but a warm arm caught her, pillowing her against a lean chest.

Her eyes fluttered shut on the sight of the two burning, blue ones that looked down on her with desire and pride in their insane depths.

* * *

**Ok, so not much sexy times, but hey it needs plot development too. I can't have sexy times every chapter, although they will be recommencing again next chapter.**


	8. On The Verge Of Madness

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Crane swung the unconscious Rachel into his arms, taking her from her plain cell to the room he'd prepared for her months ago. It had been important to keep her somewhere he could work on her, somewhere she wouldn't be able to escape before he was finished with her.

He walked swiftly up the staircase of the abandoned manor house in the countryside he'd commandeered, for its isolated yet useful location close to Gotham City, and its usable conditions. It was rundown, but not uninhabitable. A few modifications to the inside had ensured it was liveable, while retaining its dilapidated façade.

A place for him to work, to develop his toxin's formula and create new ones, and to hide his prize away from the world until she was ready.

Winter was fast approaching, the nights drawing in, colder and colder, and Crane was glad of the fireplaces in the house.

Not like his grandmother's house, where he'd been constantly cold, always hungry and in pain and fearful…

_No more of that, Jonathan. You took care of those parasites years ago, you're free…_

Crane forced himself to take a deep breath, expelling memories of his past. They were irrelevant, and he had made sure he sent them screaming to their graves.

His first experiments in fear.

Rachel moaned in his arms, and he glanced down at her, a sadistic kind of tenderness welling up in his young face. She was suffering, he could see that, but soon she would be whole again.

Wholly his.

He laid her down on the comfortable bed, tugging her scuffed boots off before draping the covers over her body. He smoothed back a lock of hair, before gently brushing her lips with his.

Rachel awoke; pale and drawn, but registered the softer material beneath her cheek. Blinking, she slowly sat up, a linen blanket falling from her body, as she looked around in confusion.

* * *

She was lying in a bed, all creamy linen and warm faux fur blankets; and soft pillows. The room she was now in was as wildly different from her cell as it was possible to get, with a large bay window directly opposite the bed, shrouded in crimson curtains, stark against the yellow tinted whitewashed walls. A dresser and cosy-looking armchair was nestled in one corner. She could see an open door leading into a bathroom, and another closed one just across from her bed.

It began to open, and she scrambled from the bed, determined that if it was Crane, he would not catch her napping.

It turned out to be him, walking through the door in a sharp brown suit, not unlike the ones she had seen him wear when he was Director of Arkham.

She forced herself to ignore the way the sunlight made his neat raven hair gleam, or how his eyes seemed to burn when he looked at her. He had destroyed her life; she had to hate him now.

She wondered uneasily if she was up to the task. Refusing to move under his intent gaze, she half wished she'd had time to smooth down her messy bed hair.

Crane smirked amusedly at the defiant Rachel, arms crossed and spine stiff, her hair falling around her in ruffled waves.

"Why did you bring me here, Crane?" she asked, a hint of bitterness in her voice. Crane left the door, slowly walking towards her, making Rachel unconsciously back up to the bed.

"Well, if you prefer I could always put you back in that cell," he quipped, loving the steely flash of temper in her eyes. It sent heat flaring throughout his body.

_I want her now, Jonathan…_

Patience, my friend. This will take time, and we have all the time in the world…

"No, thank you," was the cool reply, and he smiled appreciatively.

"You are not afraid of me," he observed, still moving forward. Rachel glared at him, and he chuckled. Without warning, he reached out and pushed her back onto the bed, pinning her wrists either side of her head. He chuckled again at her angry face as she fought against him. He bent his head and just brushed her lips, making her still beneath him. "You're not afraid of me, but of what I can make you feel. We'll have to remedy that. And that is why you're here, Rachel."

"If you're missing being a doctor, why don't you find some other poor innocent to play your sadistic mind games on?" she spat, trying to ignore how good his body felt against hers.

"But you enjoy them so much, Rachel. Why should I deny you the pleasure?" he murmured back with a wicked smile, releasing one of her wrists to glide his fingers down her jaw, down her neck and sternum to her waist, trailing around and under to the small of her back to press her upwards, against him. She gasped, her body softening, giving Crane all the opportunity he needed to press his leg between hers. "And myself," he grinned, lowering his head. Their lips met with a practised ease which Rachel really didn't want to wonder how they got, as she moaned at the hard muscle of Jonathan's leg riding against her.

The way Jonathan kissed her was wholly different to the way Harvey kissed her, or the way she had once kissed Bruce. Both men were careful, always treating her like she was made of glass, gentle and tender. Jonathan kissed her hot and rough and wet, so dirty it should probably be banned. To know he desired her like this, so powerfully, was a heady intoxicant.

It was also inescapably sick.

As she kissed back, drinking in his moan as she caressed his hair, their mouths joined urgently, she felt a sense of power well. She may have lost control of her life, but here, in this arena, she could control _him_.

Jonathan felt her lips become harder, more demanding, her hands skating down his clothed back, as her moans became rougher. He sensed the penny had just dropped that she could take control here, now.

But only because he let her.

* * *

He groaned into her mouth, giving her what she wanted, letting her take the lead before taking it back from her, lunging deep into her mouth, making her cry out as his entire body moved against hers, her hips thrusting against his, seeking release.

Abruptly, he wrenched away from her mouth, levering himself off of her as she stared up at him, panting and ruffled, her lips swollen and pink.

"You can try, my little wolf, but you cannot control _me_," he growled, sensing her shiver. Her eyes fluttered closed, then snapped open again, defiance burning in her eyes again. Biting her lip seductively, so the skin surrounding the slowly healing cut on her lip, the cut _he_ had put there, he had to force himself not to take that lip in his own and bite it until she cried out.

Abruptly, he felt his arousal cushioned by her stomach, as she pressed herself up against him harder, their eyes locked.

"So sure about that?" she asked huskily, one eyebrow cocked. Growling in frustration, he pushed himself off of her, standing shakily from the tremors racking his frame. He forced himself back into control, straightening his tie as Rachel slowly sat up on the bed, hair mussed and shirt askew.

Her next words caught him off-guard entirely.

"Whatever happened to that cute, shy little boy I remember from grade school?" she asked, and Jonathan had to fight to stop his jaw falling open.

He glared at her coldly, all his fire extinguished for now. "Don't try your amateur psychology on me, Miss Dawes. It will not work."

"Do you believe in God, Doctor Crane?" she asked again, and his eyes narrowed. Where was she going with this cross-examination?

"You know full well that I don't, Miss Dawes. Religion is nothing more than a form of control, capitalising on man's most primitive fear. Fear of the unknown. We don't know what happens after death, so what better way to force us to conform than to use that fear, claiming that behaviour seen by society as 'evil' is punished by torment in the hereafter? It's pathetic," he sneered, thinking he had won the argument but Rachel wasn't deterred.

"Did your grandmother do that to you? Destroy your faith in society and in other people?" she asked quietly, and he froze. She continued relentlessly. "We all saw the bruises, Jonathan. Every day, when you would huddle away in the corner of the canteen in those too-big shirts, we could see the bruises and the cuts."

Jonathan felt the rage beginning to build, felt his control waver as memories he much rather disappeared forever came back, rising up in his ears like ghosts.

"_You little bastard! You're good-for-nothing, just like your whore of a mother! You deserve this, you deserve everything coming to you, boy!"_

"_No, Grandma, please!"_

"_You're an abomination! You deserve to rot in Hell for being a burden on God's green earth. People like you don't deserve to exist!"_

_"No..."_

_"You were born bad and you will die bad! You're a sinner! Filth!"_

* * *

Rachel saw the flash of pain in Jonathan's insane eyes, and found herself regretting her questions. She vaguely remembered Jonathan Crane from grade school, the quietly studious child that was picked on and bullied by so many, who always wore long-sleeved shirts even in hot weather to hide the bruises and cuts. She's always felt pity for him. Was that when the change happened? When he started down the dark path that changed him into the Scarecrow?

"What did she do to you?" Rachel whispered unconsciously, when Jonathan's eyes rose to hers, flashed with pure rage and he grabbed her by the throat, slamming her around and against the wall so her head cracked against the paint.

"She set me free, Rachel," he hissed, and she felt a slight tinge of disgust. "So don't waste your misguided pity on me."

"You're insane!" she choked out, keeping as still and stiff in his hold as she could. If she struggled, it would only enrage him more. Crane leant in, his hot breath against her ear as he smiled wickedly.

"Blame your precious Batman. The fear toxin he sprayed me with shredded what little remained of my sanity," he told her coolly, as if just discussing the weather. "But then again, I should thank him. Being insane gave me power, gave me clarity of mind I never had before. I could kill you now, and there is nothing and no one to stop me."

"Then why don't you?" Rachel snapped, tired of these games. Abruptly his fingers tightened with bruising strength, as she gagged and fought to breathe. All she could see was Jonathan's burning blue eyes, alive with madness and power as she kicked and writhed against him, trying to displace his hold around her neck but it was unbreakable.

"Because you're mine, Rachel," he growled, before suddenly setting her free, letting her collapse to the ground, coughing and gasping. Inhaling raggedly, forcing himself to regain control, he slowly knelt in front of her, tilting her chin up so her eyes met his. They sparkled with tears and anger, but no fear.

She was learning.

"You can try to find ways of hurting me, Rachel, of eroding my control but know this: not even death will help you escape me, and soon you won't want to. Because you _need _me, and you _want_ me," he whispered, before hungrily taking her lips again. After a moment, her stiffness dissolved, as he grinned against her mouth, before he pulled her into his arms, threading his fingers through her hair.

* * *

Rachel cursed herself, cursed him, cursed the whole damn situation. The feel of his drugging kisses and possessive arms set her aflame, easing the soreness in her throat.

No doubt she had bruises, imprints of his hands on her neck, like a collar.

A mark. His mark.

The thought sent a shiver of desire through her, as she clung to him, hating herself and praying he would never stop kissing her.

She was one sick puppy.

Abruptly, he left her lips, leaving her gasping, stretching up for more, wanting _more_, her body aching for what she'd experienced in her apartment two weeks ago.

"I have business to attend to tonight, and you're coming with me," Jonathan stood elegantly, straightening his cuffs as if nothing had happened. "Get some rest, take a shower. I'll have clothes and food sent up."

* * *

Open-mouthed, Rachel stared at him as he walked across the room and left, shutting the door firmly. Still breathing heavily, she sighed and went into her bathroom, to find towels and shampoo waiting for her.

Underneath the hot water, she tried to clean off the sense of shame and the marks of his hands and mouth, scrubbing her skin urgently. But what was even more worrying was that the shame was ebbing, dying with each kiss, and the need for more grew, like a tidal wave.

How long before it swept her away?


	9. In At The Deep End

On The Brink Of Control

**Batman Begins is on ITV2 tonight! Jonathan feast coming up. The sad thing is I'm going to watch it, and I have the DVD. Yeah, now that's what I call obsessed. DAMN YOU, DR JONATHAN CRANE!**

* * *

Rachel came out of the bathroom, towelling dry her wet hair to find fresh clothes and food waiting for her. Ignoring her complaining stomach, she held up the light sweater, perusing it intently.

Shrugging, she set it aside and ate the warm potato soup eagerly, feeling better after she'd finished it. She went to the mirror in the bathroom, taking the change of clothes with her. She stripped off, leaving the silk blouse and linen skirt in a neat pile on the floor before sliding into the black trousers, light sweater and high-collared jacket.

Just as she did the high collar up, she rubbed at the bruises on her neck, her eyes drifting down to the bite marks on her collarbone.

What was she turning into? What was Crane turning her into?

Sighing, she left the mirror and went back into the bedroom, slipping into her scuffed boots. As she laced them up, she realised she hadn't once tried to escape, or find out where she was.

* * *

Just as the alarming thought occurred to her, her door opened. She rolled her eyes, knowing who it would be.

"Don't you ever knock?" she asked sarcastically, turning around so her hair flipped.

Jonathan stared at his Rachel, momentarily dumbstruck. She looked…dangerous.

The ensemble he had chosen for her hugged her figure, highlighting the firm curves of her body. It deepened the pale perfection of her skin, darkening her eyes. She was sexy, seductive, most definitely a femme fatale.

And she was all his.

He hastily pulled himself together, ignoring the now typical flash of desire he always felt being so close to her, stepped forward and dryly replied, "No, never. Call it an old habit."

"Clearly an old habit that never died. Where are we going anyway?" she asked nonchalantly, turning away.

"Into the City. I have a business deal that recently went awry, and I'm going to remind my customers I can't have them slacking off," Jonathan replied coldly, and Rachel shivered. His tone was utterly uncompromising, and she wondered what these 'customers' had done to deserve this.

Then she decided she didn't want to know.

She felt a mild excitement rise at the thought of going back to Gotham, but that was soon quashed when Jonathan abruptly turned her to face him, an icy look on his face.

"Don't imagine for a moment, Rachel, that you're going to have the opportunity to run back to your old life. _**That **_life is dead, and you would be nothing but a freak to them now," he hissed, tightly gripping her arms as she gasped.

"I'm not stupid, Jonathan," she snapped back, wresting her arms free.

"Good," he muttered.

"Good." Rachel pursed her lips, turning away. Awkwardness settled between them, at the childish argument. It stretched out, like a taut wire, just ready to snap.

"Come on," he took her arm and led her from the room.

* * *

Rachel looked around as they descended the staircase in the dilapidated old manor house, the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpets contrasting sharply with the dusty chandelier and the covers over most of the furniture, with an almost Gothic charm.

Men scurried around, like ants in their colony, most of them ex-inmates or convicts, moving crates outside. Rachel was glad of her jacket when Jonathan and her stepped outside into the cold, wintry night, a gust of wind blowing snow in their faces.

Jonathan gestured to a van. "Get in."

Deciding now was not the time for an argument, Rachel scrambled in, trying to squash herself into a corner as Jonathan slid in next to her. Around them were a few crates, which she guessed were full of drugs, and thugs with guns crammed in beside them.

Jonathan turned to her, as she felt him slide something cold and heavy into her palm. She looked down, and blanched.

"Take this. Things could get ugly," he explained coolly, as she gazed at the small handgun in her lap, already loaded. "You do know how to use one?"

She flicked a glare at him, took the gun in her hand, and cocked it with an arrogantly raised eyebrow, making sure the safety was on.

"Fine, point taken," he sighed, turning away. "Incidentally, I thought you might like to know that the manor house is about thirty miles outside of Gotham City. It's taken me four months to make it habitable again."

The offhand comment had Rachel looking at him intently, puzzling over what he had said in her mind. He was doing that for four months? Why? Not just for her, surely.

As if reading her thoughts, Jonathan leant into her, so his lips just brushed her ear. "Believe it or not, Rachel, I didn't spend four months just obsessing over you. With Falcone in Arkham, and Batman slowly cracking down on the drugs trade, someone needed to step into the breach," he explained, and she felt her hackles rise.

"You've been lacing your drugs with your fear toxin, filling up our hospitals with poisoned addicts so don't blame me if I don't start applauding," she snapped, but Jonathan merely chuckled.

"How can you be so naïve? I'm doing your precious society a favour, in lacing my drugs with my toxin. It scares them off of them permanently, unlike endless sojourns in jail and rehab. I provide work for the thousands of homeless and destitute people in the Narrows which your precious society would rather ignore. They should be giving me a bloody medal," he sighed wearily, prompting another glare from Rachel.

"Oh yeah, because you do it from the kindness of your heart, don't you Crane?" she snapped caustically, earning herself another chuckle from her captor.

"Touché. And we're back to 'Crane' now, are we?" he asked casually, unruffled as Rachel huffed and turned away.

* * *

An interminable amount of time later, the van rolled to a stop and the doors opened. The thugs crammed out, as Crane and Rachel followed more slowly. Facing them were three men who Rachel vaguely recognised from mug shots as some of the Chechen's men.

"Stay silent," Crane muttered in Rachel's ear, through his Scarecrow mask, and she nodded, the burlap scratching her cheek.

Rachel hung back, behind the three thugs Jonathan had bought, unconsciously putting a hand on the gun tucked into her waistband.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" Crane stepped forward, and Rachel shivered. He was the Scarecrow now, not Jonathan. "I assume there was a reason the Chechen asked for this…meeting."

"The Boss wants refund for bad drugs," one, a bald tattooed thug with a semi-automatic nestled by his hip, replied in a hoarse Eastern European accent.

"Oh, does he now?" Crane replied silkily, and Rachel could just hear the danger in his voice. Except these thugs were too thick to hear it. "Well, I see no evidence. How do I know the Chechen isn't just trying to rip me off?"

"Here's your proof, scum!" one of the other thugs brandished his gun threateningly, at which point Crane just tilted his head to the side, heaving a tired sigh.

"Always the same threats," he muttered, before he lunged forward in a deadly quick move. Gas spurted from his wrist, and the thug collapsed to the floor, screaming and clawing at his face.

To her surprise, Rachel didn't look down on the tortured thug in horror, like she might have done a few weeks ago. She looked at him coldly, mentally shaking his head. You'd have thought people would learn not to underestimate Jonathan Crane by now. He was more dangerous than he looked.

"Tell your 'Boss' that unless he deigns to honour me with his presence, next time I'll be sending him three insane, useless thugs instead of one," Crane called to the other two, both looking down in horror at their mate.

Crane turned away, and Rachel seemed to watch in slow motion as the two thugs he'd turned his back on raised their weapons, murderous looks in their dull eyes.

Rachel didn't even think, she just reacted.

* * *

Jonathan smiled when he heard the first gunshot, beneath the mask. But at the second, he frowned and spun to find Rachel with a smoking gun in her hand, steadily aiming at one dead thug, and the other bleeding on the floor from the shoulder.

She had shot both of them before any of his men had had time to react.

And her hands weren't even shaking.

His cruel smile only growing now, he cautiously approached Rachel, who was staring wide-eyed at the prone thugs, his own men starring at her askance.

He felt only pride, and a fierce possessiveness. She was magnificent, and she was _his_.

"Thank you, Rachel," he breathed, hand outstretched. "Now give me the gun."

She looked at him, clearly shocked by her own actions and the fact she had just killed a man.

* * *

Rachel's brain was a complete mess as she stared down at what she had done. She had just killed one man and injured another, and why?

She had just murdered two human beings…

_Not human. They were barely more than pathetic sheep, Rachel, and they were going to kill your man just because he wasn't going to let them intimidate them. It's survival of the fittest now, sweetheart, and you did it for your man. You did it for Jonathan…_

"Rachel?"

_Did you enjoy it? The power of taking their lives, of preventing a death before it happened? _

I just killed a man!

_No, you just dished out true justice. He was going to kill Jonathan, but he didn't because __**you**__ stopped him. He would have shot him right in the back, before his men had time to react, now that's true murder. What you just did was justice, restoring the balance. You saved one person from dying, and another took his place. Balanced…_

No, no, no, no, no!

_Yes. You did the right thing, so stop snivelling and letting your stupid morals drive you to insanity! You saved Jonathan!_

"RACHEL!"

The shout had Rachel snapping out of her internal reverie, eyes blearily focussing on Jonathan's burning blue ones, free of the burlap sack.

"Give me the gun," he demanded gently, his voice warm, soothing. She could see pride, acceptance, even hungry desire in his eyes.

She slowly loosened her grip on the gun, letting Jonathan tug it from her fingers, as he stepped close and stroked her face.

"What have you done to me?" she breathed, eyes wide and tearful as she was forced to breathe in short gasps through the vice that had suddenly appeared around her lungs.

"I've set you free, Rachel," he replied, taking her chin in his hand and pulling her to him. The moment his lips met hers, she felt the world fall away and she let it. It was too confusing and dark and just damn complicated right now.

She didn't want to think about why she had just killed a man, why she was here now, in a murderous sociopath's arms, how she had just done what she did.

_I'm in love with him_.

The errant thought flitted through her brain, but she pushed it away in horror. She loved Harvey, and…

Bruce.

Or did she?

It had been four months since she had made that promise to Bruce, to wait for him, and she wasn't sure if she could keep it. She wasn't sure if she still loved him enough, to wait forever, and if these past few weeks had taught her anything, it was that she had to look after herself, because sure as hell no one else would.

_Except Jonathan…_

And did she love Harvey as he deserved to be loved? After all this…

There was a side to her that Harvey could never handle.

But Jonathan could and did on a regular basis. He had set it free in the first place.

At the thought, Rachel's lips firmed on Jonathan's, as she clung to him. She became aggressive, prying his mouth open and fiercely duelling his tongue with hers. He made a desperate sound in the back of his throat, and pulled her closer, hands searching through her clothes, and sliding into her hair.

Abruptly, he yanked her hair, and she cried out from a mix of pleasure and pain.

"Now, now my little she-wolf," he panted, and she was glad to see he was as affected as she was, the barriers in his eyes down for her, and her alone, to see through. "There's a time and a place for that."

"Then take me there," she breathed back, that side only he unleashed in control, her morals and her superego fully subsumed for now.

She needed it, like nothing else. She needed him.

Maybe she loved him, maybe she didn't but he was _**hers**_. Her Jonathan, her Scarecrow, _**hers.**_

Jonathan looked down on his Rachel with wide eyes, unsure he had just heard what his brain, and Scarecrow, was screaming insistently that he had.

She wanted him, she wanted him and she knew it, and she was _asking_ for it.

"Be careful what you wish for," he growled, before taking her hand and almost dragging her to the van, leaving the bleeding thug, the dead man and the now insane man behind them.

* * *

**Ok, next chapter is revenge time, wonderwoundedhearers! You are so going to regret that last chapter of I'll Show You Madness! ;P**


	10. Lose Control? Oh Too Late For That!

On The Brink Of Control

**I hope you're ready…**

* * *

Rachel purposely didn't touch or let Jonathan touch her on the ride back to the manor. She could feel his eyes on her, on her body, drifting over her with a casual possessiveness that made her shiver with anticipation.

_I am so going to hell for this…_

_**Bring it on!**_

Rachel decided she didn't care. She wanted this, she wanted him.

* * *

When they reached the manor, Crane's thugs piled out, and Rachel went to follow suit but Crane pulled her down on top of him, holding her there with steely hands.

Looking into his eyes, Rachel didn't need to hear him say anything to know he wanted her. She clasped his face in-between her hands and kissed him longingly, using her weight to sink her tongue deep into his mouth. He moaned, his hands sliding through her long hair.

"Boss?"

That single word had them pausing, suspended, as they both turned their heads to find one of his thugs watching them, slack-jawed and glazed-eyed.

Rachel knew instinctively that she didn't like that oddly hungry look in the thug's eyes.

Jonathan pushed Rachel away gently, standing up in the cramped van and walking out. "What is it?" he asked, snapping his fingers in front of the thug's face impatiently.

Rachel hurriedly went inside, wanting to escape from the intrusive gaze of that thug, climbing the stairs to her room with mingled need and impatience rushing through her veins.

* * *

Just as she had closed her door and stepped away, it slammed open again and Jonathan stalked through. Eyes wide, pinned by his intense blue eyes, she was paralysed as he strode forward, twined a hand in her hair and pulled her to him.

His head swooped and his lips covered hers.

Rachel moaned and sank against him, sliding her hands into his hair. He held her, kissed her like he needed to absorb her into his body, needed to claim her in every way possible.

She eagerly helped him tear off her coat, before returning her hands to his body to explore, sliding over his tense muscles devotedly. She felt him move, and then the hard surface of the door behind her back. She instinctively widened the space between her legs, letting him slide his hips between.

Jonathan broke from her lips, trailing hungry kisses over her face and neck, murmuring "Mine," across her skin. Rachel arched, unable to hold back the moans he drew from her lungs, fingers sunk in his hair, holding him to her. She heard a tearing sound, and then wet heat on her breast as she shrugged the ruined remnants of her sweater away, pressing her body into his.

She felt his teeth on her sensitive flesh, and cried out, twining her leg around his hip, so their bodies pressed together entirely, making both of them pause, hissing in a needed breath.

Without warning, Jonathan took her hands from his hair and waist, and pinned them to the door.

"Tell me what you want, Rachel," he growled in her ear, eyes proprietarily glancing over her body, panting breasts pressing against his still shirt-clad chest.

Rachel could barely think, let alone summon coherent speech. Her entire body felt like it was on fire.

"I want…" she had to pause, licking her swollen, dry lips. Jonathan's eyes darkened at the sight. "I want to feel you inside of me. I want…Scarecrow."

Jonathan felt a rush of pure possessiveness as the words dripped from her lips, and he released her wrists as their lips frantically met again, tongues twining and exploring ardently. He pulled her close against him, his body aching within the confines of his clothing, as he began to thrust his pelvis against hers, and his tongue into her mouth, in concert. The friction was driving him insane.

_As if you're not already…?_

_Now is not the time, Scarecrow…_

He felt her yank away his tie, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off with his suit jacket. A delicious shock ran through them both when their skin met, and Rachel gasped into his mouth.

Jonathan shifted to the side, still pinning her with his arms, catching her eye. She shivered, as her warm, vibrant eyes drifted to his hand, lying over her heart. He trailed it slowly down her reddened skin, down her taut stomach before it disappeared beneath the waistband of her trousers. She gasped and arched, closing her eyes as he played and teased, before easing one finger into her.

She cried out, and he smirked grimly.

He kissed her again, matching the thrust of his tongue to the movement of his fingers, her hands scrabbling over the smooth expanse of his back urgently, begging wordlessly for more.

He pulled back from the kiss, needing to see her, to see every inch of her, her neck and collarbone covered with the marks of his…their violent need. He pushed down her trousers and underwear impatiently, before stepping back to glide his eyes over her.

She was a feast for the senses, her silken hair rippling over her shoulders, her skin flushed and rosy with arousal, reddened and marked by his hands and tongue and teeth.

His.

* * *

She trembled against the door, body craving his after his teasing. She stepped forward and pulled him to her, kissing him urgently, aggressively, dominantly. Amused, Jonathan let her, holding her close until he felt her hitch her firm thigh to his hip, the rough material of his suit trousers abrading the sensitive skin, pressing her molten heat against his own arousal. They gasped, pausing to see the evidence of the other's desire, before he picked her up, and carried her to the bed.

Rachel let him throw her on the cushioning surface, as he knelt in front of her, gently but relentlessly pushing her thighs open. She moaned and threaded her fingers through his luxuriant raven hair, eyes begging him to do it.

Jonathan smiled, and leant forward, lowering his mouth to her. She cried out at the first moment of his tongue touching her, exploring intimately every inch of her now throbbing body. His hands clamped down on her hips, stopping her moving as he racked up her tension another notch, his fingers leaving perfect, horizontal bruises behind. She cried out, driving herself into his hands when she felt his tongue enter her, thrusting languidly before devouring her with an abandoned, wild passion that stole her breath.

Thoughts of Bruce, of Harvey had been banished from her head, and all she could see, think and feel was Jonathan.

His name fell from her lips, as she felt her entire body tense, the heat inside her coiling like a snake, starting the familiar ascent but with an intensity she had never known. Her hands in his hair pulled him closer entreatingly, begging him to never stop as he growled against her body and surged in one last time. She broke with a cry, arching her spine until it almost snapped. Her body slumped, utterly boneless and limp, open and vulnerable as Jonathan stood before, licking his lips like a wolf surveying his prey.

Her eyes ghosted over his body, taking in every line, every muscle, every freckle and scar on his perfect body, lean, toned and compact like a runner's. He was a predator, and she his…

No, just his.

As the knowledge washed over her, that she did indeed love him and she belonged with him and wanted to be owned by him, she didn't let fear take over. Not now, not here. The recriminations would come later, but not now.

He let his trousers and underwear fall to the ground, revealing his own body as she smiled wolfishly. He knelt on the bed, between her open legs, gliding his hands possessively up her needing body, setting the nerves afire once more.

"Scarecrow…Jonathan, please," she breathed in a heady gasp, lips swollen and aching for his. He smiled, utterly in control of himself, as he lowered himself to her.

* * *

"My sweet little wolf, your wish is my command," he growled, before kissing her wildly, his hands tangled in her hair. She cried out but refused to release his lips as he thrust into her abruptly, without warning. Her hands rose to clasp his back, feeling the muscles flex and contract beneath her touch as he pounded into her without restraint, abrading her abused flesh, but loving every moment of it. She felt like he was breaking her, and remaking her as she needed to be, as he needed her to be. She cried out into his mouth, before biting down on his lip, tasting an erotic mix of his blood and her own essence in his kiss. He yanked her head back by her hair, lowering his mouth to her neck and biting down, hard. She pushed his head into her neck, as she felt the skin break, and blood stain her pure skin.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, opening herself fully to him, loving every minute of the deep, invading hardness inside her, claiming her soft body without mercy or caution.

His body surrounded her, within and without and she clung to him as he raised his head. She sucked his bleeding lip into her mouth, finding the metallic taste of his blood strangely arousing, as he growled and only thrust into her harder, buried to the hilt in her.

"Lose control, my Rachel," he whispered huskily against her lips, unable to speak properly from the need driving him.

A thin sheen of sweat covered their bodies, joining them together, so neither knew where their body stopped and the other's began. Rachel felt her body contract around his, felt his groan rather than heard it, felt the giddy ride to satiation start. He lunged into her mouth with an incoherent gasp, smothering her scream as she broke, writhing in his arms, her mind long since gone.

Jonathan felt it, felt her body abandoned utterly to his, and smiled inwardly with satisfaction before it turned to a strained grimace. God she was so soft and welcoming, taking whatever abuse his needy body dished out with wanton pleasure. He felt her body tense around him, and he lost his mind, breaking with a cry of pleasure, like a predator finally claiming his prey. His eyes locked on the bleeding bite on her neck and he felt possessiveness sweep him.

She was his, and his alone.

_**His**_**.**

He collapsed on top of her, both of them breathing heavily, but Rachel made no move to push him away and he made no move to leave her just yet.

They lay, bodies, minds and souls entwined, the silver moonlights casting them in an eerie, sylvan glow.

In some part of his brain that could form a semblance of a coherent thought, Jonathan smiled triumphantly. At last she had lost control freely, knowingly giving into it.

His little wolf had done him proud. Literally.

* * *

**More soon…;P**


	11. The Company Of Wolves

On The Brink Of Control

**I'm baaack! Finally out of hospital and able to write again! Hallelujah! Had this knocking around for bloody ages, so thought I'd update this first, seeing as it was 3/4 written. Enjoy :)**

* * *

Rachel didn't want to open her eyes. She floated in a sea of bliss, strong arms holding her from behind, someone's nose nestled into her hair.

She stretched out her leg languorously, then groaned as stretched muscles complained, and the arms around her tightened possessively, warm lips tucking into the curvature of her neck.

"What have you done to me?" she murmured, not expecting an answer as she shifted sleepily.

"Nothing you didn't want, sweetheart," an arch voice chuckled in her ear, as her eyes flew open and she remembered everything that had happened the night before.

Every kiss, every touch, every caress…

Panic flared, the confidence which had so suffused her the night before gone, and she sat up, before Jonathan's arms could come around her to pull her back down. Her neck stung, and her trembling fingers rose to the bite on her neck, dried blood crusty beneath her fingertips.

What have I done…?

She had betrayed Harvey and Bruce, and herself. Everything she believed in, her ideals and her morals, all for him. Why?

Memories of the night before, the thugs, the gunshots from her hand; returned as she trembled. Warm arms came around her as her breathing shook, and she clung to that, to him. He was real, solid, safe in her crazy world, and despite the panic in her blood, she felt no regret.

"Breathe, Rachel. Breathe," his warm breath caressed her ear, the only thing separating the skin of his chest and her back was her long, freely tumbling hair. She closed her eyes and forced herself to do as he said, one hand clutching onto his arm.

"What have I done?" she gasped, almost sobbing except no tears fell onto her cheek. Jonathan's fingers on her chin turned her to face him, and he gently kissed her.

"What you wanted, Rachel. For the first time, you did not let society's rules pull you back from what you needed, from what you wanted. Don't let them do it again," he whispered against her lips, as she let herself be cradled in his arms. Just looking into his eyes brought it all back, that insidious feeling her torn mind could not be certain of naming as love.

It gave her peace, swept away her uncertainties as her lips willingly sought out his. Jonathan took her mouth rapaciously, gently laying her back beneath him. They were at the most crucial stage now, the most delicate, the one with the greatest danger of her regressing, and then they would be back at square one. After last night, he could not lose her.

Tenderness had replaced the urgent frenzy of the night before, as Jonathan broke off their kiss, to catch her eye and hold it; as he shifted and slid between her thighs. Rachel gasped and arched but didn't break the eye contact, her hands sliding over his back, fingers gripping tightly. Unblinkingly, Jonathan smoothly withdrew and then thrust back in, Rachel's shaky gasp music to his ears. She broke their intense eye contact first, unable to take it any longer as she sought his lips with hers, willingly, wantonly.

A hand slid down between their bodies was all it took for Rachel to break, as he teased her throbbing centre between thrusts, and he quickly followed suit, crying out before collapsing atop her contentedly. He rolled to the side and sat up, gently stroking Rachel's arm, forcing her to open her eyes and rouse herself from sated stupor.

* * *

"What is it?" she asked, quietly frowning. Jonathan's face was blank and cool, a mask after their passionate night, and she felt unease creep over her. There were icy shields over those bright blue eyes now, and she felt herself locked out.

"Get dressed," he ordered her, turning and standing to dress himself, making her bristle. "I'll be back in a moment."

She stared after him when he left, jaw dropping open. Was that it? Had he just been playing with her, and now he had got what he wanted, she was just an inconvenience?

Sighing, fighting back tears she was determined not to give into, Rachel stood and began getting dressed, mulling over the events of the night.

She had killed a man, possibly two. She had stepped over a brink, and she wasn't sure she could turn back now. She was fallen, broken, a damaged woman.

Did she love Jonathan? Was it love that had prompted her to kill those men? Or just the instinct to preserve another human's life, at the injustice of being shot in the back?

Her head beginning to hurt, Rachel dressed in the trousers from last night, but had to find a new sweater in the dresser, the other one lying in two pieces on the floor. Rachel's jaw set at the sight of it, remembering hot touches and possessive hands. She didn't know why Jonathan had started acting the way he had, but she sure as hell was not going to let him get away with locking her out again.

At the thought, the door opened again, and she turned to find Jonathan watching her intently, something clutched close in his hand. She frowned as she met his eyes and then her eyes trailed down.

And widened.

It was a syringe.

"Jonathan, what-?" she asked, uncertainly, already moving away but the former doctor shook his head and moved forward as she moved back, stalking her as easily as a predator stalks its prey.

"I'm sorry about this, Rachel. I have to go into Gotham for a day to settle some business, and I can't run the risk of you escaping, with the utter dolts I have guarding you. I don't trust them, and I can't trust you," he explained, as Rachel stared at him.

"I saved your life last night. I have no idea where the hell I am, and…" Rachel trailed off, an iron fist choking her heart and her words, forcing them back down her throat. _I think I love you…_

The words lingered on her tongue, bitter and unwelcome now, and she could force herself to say them. She met Jonathan's eyes, and shivered under the wildfire in them, the same wildfire that had consumed her last night.

"I can't lose you, Rachel," he murmured, almost reluctantly, and her eyes widened. "I won't lose you."

Rachel rushed to one side as he lunged for her, but he was too quick. He caught her, and using a leg to kick hers out from under her, he threw her down onto the bed. She struggled and kicked, her fist reaching out and cutting open his abused lip, before he managed to pin both above her head, panting and trembling beneath him. His breath wasn't much better, and he had to fight not to kiss her lips, swollen and still red from his kisses that morning. He cursed the emotional vulnerability she had brought out in him, cursed her, and cursed himself.

_Told you so, Jonny boy…_

Don't rub it in, Scarecrow. I can't lose her.

_You won't lose her. She's ours, Crane, ours, now and forever. It'll take time, but she will see that, eventually. It'll just take time, and patience…_

A commodity you possess nothing of.

_Don't lecture me about patience, lover boy. You were just as impatient to have her as I was after six months without her, and now she is bound to us physically and emotionally. She wouldn't have killed that thug if she didn't love you, genius! For a psychological genius, you can be such an emotional airhead…_

Yes, thank you, Scarecrow.

"Why?" Rachel suddenly whispered, stilling beneath him and distracting him from his internal monologue. Jonathan glanced down at her and trembled beneath the rage in her eyes, and the sheer blazing weight of emotion in those warm amber orbs.

_Told you so, Jonny boy…_

"I can't lose you, can't risk you running back to try to reclaim your old life and with the idiots guarding you, I know you could, Rachel," he explained awkwardly. His breathing became shallower, as he realised how desperately he needed to make her understand, and accept, what he was trying to explain.

A difficult task when he wasn't entirely sure himself.

Looking down at her, he bent his head and kissed her fiercely, moaning when she instinctively rose to his passion, her tongue entwining hungrily with his, devouring him. Last night had shown him how right she was for him, how well she fit him down to his bones, his equal. The only woman, the only weakness, he could ever want.

What was worse was when he raised his head, and saw the understanding lighting up her fiery eyes. She opened her mouth, and he took advantage of her distraction to jam the needle into her artery, injecting the carefully prepared sedative into her bloodstream.

"I'm sorry. I promise I'll be back as soon as I can," Jonathan whispered against her lips, forcing himself to leave her side.

_Well, well, well the good doctor has a heart after all…_

Jonathan closed and locked Rachel's door, slipping the key onto a chain around his neck. Ignoring Scarecrow's sarcastic comments, he forced himself to remember the plan, the plan that would set Rachel free and make her his.

He just hadn't factored this, this…feeling into his plans.

_Oh grow up, you bleeding heart…_

Scarecrow, shut up.

_Whatever you say, Casanova…_

Jonathan sighed as he left the house and joined his men in one of the nondescript vans he used for his 'business transactions'. It was going to be a long day, with guilt and worry gnawing at him.

* * *

Not to mention his alter ego's sarcastic proclamations were going to drive him more insane than he already was, a probability he'd not thought psychologically possible. He forced himself not to let his gaze rise to the house as it receded into the distance, forced his thoughts to stay away from Rachel.

He had work to do.

* * *

Rachel didn't know how long she was out, nor what time it was when the sedative finally wore off enough for her to become aware of her surroundings. She was still laid out on her bed, her limbs feeling like they were weighed down with concrete, her head buzzing.

Anger was blazing inside her, at that insufferable, emotionally backward, ridiculous, arrogant sonofabitch of a doctor, Jonathan Crane. Why did she have to attract the loopy, possessive idiots with trust issues?

She understood why he did it, saw the same uncertainty and wild emotion in his eyes that she knew she felt, but that did notmean she had to like it, and when he came back…

She was undecided whether she should kill or kiss him.

The door opened and closed, and she hoped it would be Jonathan's face she saw, until an unfamiliar voice started talking to himself.

And horror began to fill her.

"…found the spare key. Boss won't mind what he doesn't know. She asleep anyway, won't feel a thing…she's so pretty, so soft, all ours…boss has had his fun anyway…"

Rachel forced her uncooperative head to turn slightly, and just gently raised her eyelids. It was the convict from yesterday, the one that had watched her and Jonathan kiss in the van, with hunger in his eyes.

He had his back to her, obviously talking to himself and believing himself alone in the room with her unconscious. Great, one of Jonathan's ex-inmates.

She turned her head to side, looking for anything to defend herself with. Her eyes fell on the empty syringe Jonathan had left on the side cabinet, within easy distance. She reached for it with heavy limbs, and hid it by her side, forcing her breathing to even out as he turned around, faking unconsciousness.

"…could always strangle her afterward, say she escaped…yeah, do that…" the insane ex-inmate continued to mumble to himself, as Rachel felt the bed dip by her side and she fought not to tense, not to allow any telltale sign to show. Suddenly a hand crushed her breast, and she flinched, opening her eyes and retrieving the syringe from her side. With all her might, she drove into the inmate's neck, as he collapsed, choking onto the floor. She felt a sharp pain in her leg as he did.

She thought she might have got his windpipe. Shaking, adrenaline and fear racing through her veins in panic, she forced herself up and off the bed, as the inmate collapsed to the floor, turning blue and grasping at her leg. She kicked him off, and noticed the syringe, half-empty and hanging from her leg. She tore it away, already feeling the narcotic take hold, and saw with fear that it had been too full in the first place.

And she still hadn't got rid of all the sedative still in her bloodstream.

She slumped to the ground, shaking. She needed help, she needed it now!

She ignored the choking inmate, stumbling to the door, fighting the drugs in her system. The hallway was empty, devoid of life, as she staggered down it, adrenaline helping her move, as she looked for any help.

Her brain kicked in, telling her it was her chance to escape, and find help that way. After that inmate's attack, she couldn't trust any of Jonathan's men.

Outside, it was cold and the ground covered in snow, the grey clouds above promising more. Freezing, the icy wind awoke Rachel's mind as she forced herself on. Behind her, the mansion house where she'd been imprisoned for God knew how long was abuzz with activity; the alarm raised and shouts of anger coming from the windows. Hidden against an ivy-covered wall, she panted for breath, her heart racing.

Forest surrounded her on all sides, outside the courtyard. She didn't know how far away the nearest town was, if she would make it to Gotham. She had to try; she had to fight the drug inside her with all her might.

"…she must have gone this way. Come on!" a voice shouted, and Rachel shied away, ducking into the shadows. Her boot hit a dip, and she slipped down into a small hole, seeing a gap in the walls of the courtyard, and she scrambled out. She forced herself to run into the woods, the shouts and the sounds of pursuit fading away to be replaced by silence, the kind of silence one only finds in a wood covered by snow, every living thing sleeping until the spring.

* * *

The wind picked up, making Rachel shiver in her thin sweater and trousers. She hadn't stopped to find a winter coat, she had just ran.

Her entire body was throbbing in pain, as she sluggishly wondered if she was having a bad reaction to the drugs Jonathan had given her, and the second dose the inmate had hit her with. The cold of the snow and the icy wetness penetrated her boots, and she started to shiver. She staggered on, her vision blurring in and out of focus before she tripped, and fell forward into a void.

A howl reached her ears, and she raised her head, panic waking her up again. Wolves!

The wild cry, mournful and yet stirring something in Rachel's blood, called to her, and she pushed herself up and tried to run. The sides of the dip she'd fallen into were deep and steep, and her frozen fingers struggled to get any kind of purchase. The howling drew nearer, and fear ruled her as she scrambled for a handhold. Her limbs were trembling with the effort and the effects of the cold and the drugs still in her system. She felt like she was burning up, which she knew were really the first signs of hypothermia, and resisted the urge to take off her sweater, and cool down.

Her foot slipped on a tree root, and she fell the few feet she'd managed to climb, her ankle stinging as she fell, face first, into the snow. A snuffling near her head had her raising it, to come face to face with pungent breath, a pink tongue, black snout and iridescent blue eyes which stared down at her consideringly. Her abused body cried out in pain and agony, and she collapsed, giving in to her exhaustion, and not caring if she was eaten by wolves.

Icy blue eyes filled her mind, like the wolves, and she closed her eyes, wishing it was his arms around her. Warmth pressed against her back and her front, but she was too far gone to care as she fell into unconsciousness, the need to sleep too powerful to fight anymore.


	12. What To Do?

On The Brink Of Control

****

**Ok, so this is really short but I wanted to get something out. :) writers block is being a pain :/**

* * *

Jonathan felt it as soon as he stepped out of the van.

Something was wrong.

Like a predator, he felt the air of tension and the way his men wouldn't look at him in fear, and with an iron vice gripping his heart, he darted upstairs to Rachel's room.

It was empty but for a dead thug, stabbed in the neck with a syringe. He frowned darkly, mind racing.

Then he noticed the half empty syringe on the floor, one which was far too full…

"What happened?" he snarled, turning to one of his lieutenants, who shifted uncomfortably.

"The cameras picked up Dean goin' into her room, then she stumbled out five minutes later," he explained slowly. "She ran away, into the woods."

"And you're still standing around here, when it's almost freezing outside, and she's got half a syringe of sedative in her bloodstream?" Jonathan snapped angrily. "Get after her!"

"We sent men out…" the thug started, just as the radio on his belt buzzed.

"We found her! A mile north of the house!" one of the searchers shouted down the line. Jonathan didn't wait for anyone else, he grabbed the radio and was out the house in moments, a cold kind of rage filling him, Scarecrow oddly silenced in his mind.

She had tried to leave him. She. Had. Tried. To. Leave. Him.

His Rachel had run away. When he had told her, no _asked_ her not to!

With that amount of sedative in her blood, she was in serious danger, let alone with the cold outside. She was probably suffering from hypothermia too.

He followed the instructions relayed by the radio, walking deep into the woods, the cold wind snaking through his warm winter coat, even through his mask.

* * *

Finally he found them, the group of searchers standing around a dip, looking down.

"What are you waiting for?" he shouted commandingly. "Where is she?"

"Down there, sir," one pointed. "But there's a problem."

Jonathan strode up to the lip of the dip, and looked over. What he saw defied comprehension.

Rachel lay at the bottom of the dip, unmoving and pale, but sandwiched between two wolves, young females by the look of them, staring up at him with cold blue eyes and snarling. As he watched, one stood, protectively placing its paw on Rachel's back.

"We could shoot 'em," one of his men suggested dumbly, and Jonathan rolled his eyes. He shook his head, intrigued by the wolves' odd behaviour as he carefully descended into the dip, the wolves' snarling unceasingly as he came closer.

One snapped its jaws at him, but he raised his hands to show he was no threat, catching its eye unblinkingly. The wolf stared back at him, then moved back, nudging her sister to do the same, so Jonathan could reach Rachel. He rolled her over, and was struck cold by the icy pallor of her skin, as he lifted her partially into his arms.

Her pulse was weak but still there, and her chest rose and fell a tiny amount. Tenderly Jonathan tucked Rachel's hair back, stroking her face, before shrugging out of his coat and wrapping her in it. With strength belied by his lanky frame, he hoisted her into his arms, as the wolves followed him.

His men moved back from him, almost as if in fear, as he walked back to the mansion with Rachel in his arms, the wolves pacing like tame dogs at his side.

* * *

He got her into her room as quickly as possible, tucking her into bed and then planting himself in a chair, and refusing to leave her side. She was feverish and kept mumbling incoherently in her delirium.

He even thought he heard her call his name.

His eyes fell on the wolves sitting on the other side of Rachel's bed. They had refused to leave her side, even when his men had fired bullets into the air, and growled at anyone who approached her apart from Jonathan. They seemed to have accepted him, and regarded him with wary respect in their eerie blue eyes.

As he sat and stared at his Rachel, Jonathan was simultaneously unnerved and soothed by the lack of a second voice in his thoughts. He stared at Rachel and sighed. He didn't know why Rachel had run but something told him, through the mists of his emotionally insecure anger, that she hadn't run to escape. Something had made her run, and the fact one of his men had come into her room, without orders or permission to do so, meant that something was very likely him.

He needed to talk to her, and soon. Jonathan frowned, as he watched Rachel toss in her bed, and considered his plan, his plan to make her his. What should he do?


	13. Awakening

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Rachel finally came to, two days after her escape, to find Jonathan watching her unceasingly with piercing eyes, as she coughed and shifted weakly.

"Where am I?" she breathed, hoarsely. Her voice was weak, and her lips felt cracked. A strand of hair had fallen across her eyes, and she would have been astounded to see that his hand trembled slightly as he tucked it back, if she had been less tired.

Her memory was vague, shrouded in mist, but she dimly recalled fear, her veins rushing with adrenaline and then running through the snow. But then…nothing. Just darkness.

"You're with me," Jonathan leant forward. "Rachel…what happened?"

"I don't…" she breathed. Frowning, she thought back. "Someone came in. I killed him."

"I know," he sighed. "Why did you kill him?"

"He…" Rachel trailed off as a phantom memory of hands grabbing at her impinged on her senses, and she gasped. "He tried to…"

Jonathan didn't need to hear her say the words. Rage, black and hot, filled him at the thought of what that thug had tried to do to his Rachel. It mattered little, he was dead now. Rachel had killed him, seemingly without a second thought.

She had come even further than expected.

"Ssh," he hushed her soothingly, reaching out to stroke her hair. "You are safe now, my little wolf. You did well to protect yourself, not to mention…"

He stopped there, waiting. Rachel frowned, shifting slightly in the bed. "Not to mention…what?" she asked weakly.

"Well, Mr Howell was referred to my care for his predilection for sweet little schoolgirls. I daresay you're older than his usual type, but then again, I suppose he was desperate," he told her bluntly. Rachel shuddered, her eyes glancing down as her morals, for a moment, reasserted themselves. He waited, patient, expectant, as her jaw firmed and her eyes rose to his, shining with an inner certainty and power that made him catch his breath.

"Then he deserved to die," she replied, so coolly, so blankly it made him grin.

Oh, she was magnificent.

As he had watched her sleep, his mind had finally quietened. Scarecrow was still silent, but the silence only lent him clarity. He knew what he needed to do now.

He had taken control from her, destroyed her life as she had known it, taken control of her heart, her body, her soul, her mind…infected and weakened the chains of society wrapped around her spirit; now it was time to make her take it back, in her former environment.

The world thought her dead. They would soon find out how wrong they were.

And once she had taken back control…she would yearn to release it again, and then she would come back to him, again and again, until she couldn't leave. It was time to unleash Rachel Dawes reborn upon the world, and make her see what they would make of her. They would think her damaged, tainted by his shadow, unworthy of their hypocritical world.

He hated to put her through such pain, but in order to remake something anew, pain must be endured. And she was strong, so, so strong.

"I still haven't forgiven you for getting me with that sedative," her soft, chiding voice broke through his ruminations, and he glanced up amusedly. "You arrogant sod."

"You need not worry about any further sedations," he told her, glancing to the two grey shadows beside her bed. "With your two new bodyguards, I doubt I would make it within a foot of you."

Rachel glanced sideways, and gasped when she saw the sleeping wolves. "What the hell…?"

"I found them standing guard over your body when I found you in the woods. Rather protective of you," he explained. "Two females. They seemed to have adopted you."

Rachel remembered the howls as she had run through the woods and the feeling of warmth pressing against her before she blacked out. "Is that even possible?"

"There is much about the minds of animals we know little of," Jonathan replied. "There have been cases of animals acting on more than survival instincts alone. To protect you, to keep you warm, was no action motivated by survival instincts, neither was the decision to leave their pack to accompany you. Were animal psychology my field, they would have been fascinating case studies."

"Hmm, pity," she retorted, a little snappily, clearly regaining her strength. She was also still annoyed. "I'm not going to let your little drugging incident go. We need to talk about this, Jonathan."

"And we shall," he stood, somewhat irritated by her persistence. He answered to no one. He bent over her, kissing her deeply, his tongue hungry for hers. Despite herself, she returned it as eagerly as her weakened state allowed.

_Good to know. If we ever need to shut her up, we can just kiss her quiet._

Ah, Scarecrow. Glad to see you back again.

_Thought you'd got rid of me, huh? You should be so lucky…_

Inwardly rolling his eyes, Jonathan broke from Rachel's warm, sweet mouth, reminding himself she was still recovering even as his body predictably reacted to the stimulus of her lips and tongue, and left the room.

* * *

Rachel's eye stayed on Jonathan's back until he left the room, the door shutting softly behind him. Her gaze lingered on the dark panels, as her mind, stronger now and thrumming pleasurably from Jonathan's kiss, thought over everything she had seen, heard and deduced about her…lover, since he had drugged her.

His words had been all too revealing. He hadn't drugged her to keep her quiet or restrain her. He hadn't taken her as leverage or blackmail.

He'd taken, ostensibly, to set her free. But he'd also taken her because he _**needed**_ her. He wanted her and needed her, and that was why he had drugged her. Remembering the pained vulnerability in his eyes as he'd jabbed the needle into her arm, she sighed.

He needed her like she needed him.

Just then a wet nose butted her hand softly, and a canine whine filled the air. Rachel jumped, pulling her hand back as her head snapped around to meet two pairs of black eyes gazing up at her consideringly.

Her 'bodyguards'.

They whined again, and the larger of the two gave a small growl. Oddly, Rachel didn't feel frightened as she gazed at the two wild animals who had saved her life. The larger was fierce, her fur so dark it was almost black, but with streaks of grey. The smaller, and Rachel guessed younger, was lighter, white and grey with blue eyes that glowed eerily. The younger butted her nose against Rachel's hand again.

"Hey there," she murmured softly. "Guess I should say thanks for saving my butt out there."

The larger female yelped, as if in agreement. To Rachel's surprise, they both jumped up onto the bed, one either side, settling in beside her, one resting her head on Rachel's thigh, the other on her stomach. She lightly stroked the one on her stomach, the younger female, who closed her gleaming eyes and softly growled in seeming contentment.

She should have been frightened. Hell, she should have screamed at the first sight of them and run away. Or frozen in terror and refused to move.

But with them lounging beside her like a pair of house pets, she just felt warm and safe. Gladly she succumbed to the call of sleep, closing her eyes and burying one hand in the younger female's luxuriant ruff.


	14. Back To Kansas

On The Brink Of Control

_**A/N: **_Just went to see the Dark Knight Rises, and it was fabulous! Especially loved the inclusion of our darling Scarecrow, my only complaint being there wasn't enough of him. Him and Selina Kyle were highlights of the film for me.

It also gave me some more ideas about this story's direction, not least that there will one day be a short sequel, dealing with the events of DKR. Not that you have to worry about this story finishing too soon. We still have the build up to the Dark Knight, the events of that movie, and then a few chapters wrapping up the aftermath. So enjoy!

* * *

A week later and Rachel was back on her feet. Not that it did her much good, because she almost never left her room, but…still, it was better than feeling weak and shivery all the time.

The two wolves stayed by her side, her constant companions. She christened them Snow and Shadow, not the most inventive names, but they fitted. Despite how much they played with and comforted her, the sight of their glistening teeth never let her forget what they really were.

Wild, untamed, beneath the veneer of civilisation.

She supposed many people were like that. They hid behind a mask, and tamed their wildness, thinking it a weakness, a deviance; instead…it could be a strength. Rachel had come to know that wildness, and where it had once frightened her, it was slowly becoming almost comforting in its exhilaration.

They had not spoken of that morning, she and Jonathan. She saw him only rarely, and then it was only for a few minutes. Annoyance grew, but she held it in.

Waiting.

She was tired of waiting.

One day Rachel went downstairs for the first time since that night, the night she had killed for the first time. Snow and Shadow walked by her side, flanking her like silent, ghostly shadows.

She expected the thugs to glance at her dismissively, even perhaps the way Dean Howell had looked at her, speculating when she would be vulnerable enough again that they could have a go.

But they weren't.

They looked up at her, and then hurriedly looked away from her, not meeting her eyes. When she asked one where Jonathan was, he quietly, almost respectfully told her he was not around.

As she walked back upstairs, feeling oddly unsettled by the look in their eyes, she pondered it. At the head of the stairs, she turned back around and leaned her hands on the balustrade, watching the frenetic activity below.

As Snow lightly growled at one thug as he passed beneath her nose, she realised what it was. Fear.

They feared her.

Not Crane, not what he would do if they ever harmed her again, but _**her**_. They feared her, and what she would do. Howell's death hadn't bothered her for more than a second; it had been self-defence and she didn't regret it. His sort of crime, one of the sexual predator, disgusted her, and she realised that no prison cell, no probation, no rehabilitation would ever stop him from re-offending, again and again and again, destroying innocent lives and tainting them forever. But she…she had a put a stop to it all.

And now she was feared.

And that thought sent a rush of power through Rachel, as she stared down at the working thugs. Was this was Bruce felt, when he donned the cowl and the mask? When he became Batman, and became their fear?

She could be that. She was that.

Fear was a weapon, and Jonathan had set her free from it. She no longer feared losing control. And now that fear she once felt, that fear of wildness inherent within every human being…she could use that.

* * *

Jonathan watched his Rachel from a hidden alcove, watched her face as she eyed the bustling men below her, hands resting imperiously on the railing, like a queen surveying her kingdom, the wolves at her side like silent guardians. She could have no idea how magnificent she looked, truly. Powerful and beautiful.

She could be even more than that.

Which was why he would do what he must, so she would come back to him, and become so much more. This was more than just setting her free of society's shackles; she could become a colossus, a towering figure of fear and power, by his side.

Her old world, the one that would reject her, would be the cause of her final transformation.

It was nearly time.

* * *

Rachel looked up when her door opened, Snow and Shadow growling softly. She relaxed when Jonathan slid into the room, his suit ripped and dirty, dark hair dishevelled. His eyes burned as they met hers.

She opened her mouth, determined to speak, to talk about what had happened between them, but he didn't let her.

He marched across the room to her, and kissed her soundly. Rachel's mind blanked as her mouth was rather forcefully occupied, and she moaned, giving in to the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself hard against him. His hips grinded against hers, and she cried out.

There was something wild and desperate in his kiss, as he pushed her back onto the bed, shrugging off his own suit jacket before reaching for the buttons of her blouse. Rachel stared up at him, eyes wide and glazed, understanding lighting up her amber orbs, as she glanced, with an impish smirk towards her two shadows.

"Careful, honey. You might traumatise the kids," she hissed, leaning up. Jonathan saw one of the wolves pointedly look away, while the other whined, hiding its eyes under one paw. He rolled his eyes.

"They'll live," he growled shortly, meeting her kiss. Her teeth bit at his lip, and he hissed with pleasure. Oh yes, his little wolf had regained her teeth.

Rachel's fingers ripped apart his shirt and tie, discarding them carelessly, while she took care of her own blouse. Jonathan's hands reached down to still them, catching her eye and holding it.

"My little wolf," he hissed. This time Rachel felt the possessiveness without fear.

"My Scarecrow," she replied, neither agreeing or denying she was his. But he was hers, no question of it.

There could be no more words after that, as their lips met, urgent and fierce, Jonathan's hands turning to claws in her hair. He licked the scar of his bite on her neck, and as she cried out, rocked his hips hard against hers, his own cries stuttering with the sensation, threatening to end this before he was ready.

He would make her remember this night, ingrain it upon her very mind so she would never be free of it, or of him. She would never forget.

He slowed their kiss, pinned her hands to the pillow, and then set to slowly and devotedly drive her insane with his fingers and tongue until she cried out with need, relishing every inch of her silken body, heated and writhing beneath his.

Her nails bit deep into his back when he thrust into her, controlled, slow, drawing out her pleasure and his, almost tenderly. She whimpered beneath him, trying to make him go faster, almost begging him to, but he refused, resting his lips on the red scar on her neck, the mark of his teeth.

His mark.

She cried out his name as her body gave in, feeling his weight, tangible, heavy, making her feel so owned. Made her feel like she _**belonged**_.

Her heart sank as the tenderness of his passion impinged on her senses. The last time he had shown her such tenderness, he had drugged her the next minute. As he shuddered and collapsed atop her, she stroked back his dark hair and searched his eyes.

Icy blue eyes met hers, alive with madness and power, lust and…something more.

Something which demanded the words that fell from her mouth. "I love you, Jonathan."

No one had ever said those words to Jonathan. No one, until her, the woman he had corrupted and broken, and remade.

And now he was about to break her again.

He bent his head and kissed her, as a warm feeling rose up in his chest, drowning out even Scarecrow. He couldn't respond to her, those words did not exist within him to be spoken, had been beaten from him until they were but dreams, intangible whispers upon the air that had dissipated entirely when he became a man.

But emotion…even his shrivelled, dark heart could feel that emotion.

She drifted to sleep in his arms, and he watched her for awhile, eyes memorising the gentle swell of her lips, her silky dark hair, her jaw that spoke of both strength and vulnerability.

_Oh spare me the romanticisms. I might start melting…_

Inwardly rolling his eyes at his alter ego's cynicism, he rose from the bed and dressed, eying the two wolves lying by the door, watching him beadily. He caught and held their eyes, and they yelped quietly. Rachel stirred in her sleep, but didn't wake, as he sighed, pulling another syringe from his pocket.

He hated to do this, but it was necessary. She didn't wake as he gently inserted the needle, only enough that she wouldn't wake as he dressed her, and then took her into his arms, taking her downstairs.

* * *

The mansion was deserted, his men gone to another location. It was time for the next phase of Rachel's rehabilitation. Soon, if all went well, she would be back with him.

He laid her back in her cell, unused for weeks, and then catching the wolves' eyes, he led them out of the door, locking it securely.

For the past week since Rachel's recovery, he had been laying traps for the Bat, making sure he survived them and let him walk away with clues, so many clues, that his precious Rachel Dawes was still alive.

And she was, in a form. But the Rachel he knew, and her former friends knew…she was gone.

He eyed the large wooden door, and sighed. He had to do this, and only then could she be free.

* * *

Rachel awoke groggily to the sound of crashes and gunshots. She shot bolt upright, blinking at the darkness surrounding her. Gone was the comfortable room she'd fallen asleep in, and in its place…

Was her cell. Snow and Shadow were gone, Jonathan was gone.

"What the hell?" she breathed, as the door was suddenly kicked in, to reveal several figures in SWAT gear, and she raised her hands, meeting their eyes defiantly. Confusion warred with rage in her mind, and she eyed the police officers almost disdainfully.

"Miss Dawes?" a familiar voice asked, and she looked into the eyes of Jim Gordon, warm, concerned, disbelieving.

As she was patted and petted, and told she was going to be alright as she was loaded into the back of an ambulance, she felt only resentment. Already she felt the pitying, curious glances of the medics and the police officers.

Only one thought did she allow herself to think about. Why did Jonathan leave her?

Even when she was embraced by Harvey at the hospital, tears in his once beloved eyes, she felt nothing. Her eyes drifted to a dark figure in the corner of the hospital room, before the nurses came in to 'examine her', including a rape test, and she wondered if this was how he felt, for so many years.

All those years he stood in the wilderness, far more than her. She wondered how he could stand all this hypocrisy, these assurances that she was going to be alright, when in their eyes, unshielded from her freed gaze…

Disgust. Loathing. Curiosity. Pity. Contempt.

As if _**she**_ deserved their pity? No, if anyone deserved pity, it was _**them**_, who cowered from the dark, and feared what they could not understand.

Rachel knew no such fear now, and as she met the eyes of Bruce Wayne across her hospital room, she wondered if he felt it too.


	15. The Birth Of The Wolf

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Rachel relished her freedom, she truly did. But it was tainted by the truth of it, the truth of Gotham. Everywhere she looked, she looked with eyes unveiled from their former innocence.

She never thought she had been innocent. She'd thought her innocence had died the day her father died, the day Bruce's father died. Being an Assistant DA, she'd seen terrible things, fought cases where innocent people had been brutally murdered, raped, tortured, their very lives violated.

She had always believed in due process, in the law, in justice. But what was the point of a prison, of a law, when it only delayed, not stopped, the inevitable continuation of a crime?

Due process had not stopped Dean Howell from attempting to rape her. The law would not have stopped those two thugs from killing Jonathan. The law existed only to punish offenders _**after**_ the crime was committed, not before. It was cure, not prevention.

And prevention…could only be accomplished outside of the law. The police weren't up to it. Half of them were in the Mob's pay as it was, and it was the law itself that stunted their potential.

That was the purpose of the Batman. He went where no cop could, where no politician dared. But even he, the infamous Batman, was limited.

Whereas she…she wasn't.

After she was released from the hospital, she moved back in with her mother. At first, it was tolerable, but every moment Rachel looked up into her mother's eyes, felt her gaze on Jonathan's mark…her skin crawled. She knew what she was thinking.

She moved back out, into a hotel room, claiming she needed space. Harvey tried to make her go to a therapist. She refused. She refused to say anything about her incarceration, her kidnap, or her captor. Shock, they called it.

If she had said anything, that wasn't a lie, they would have called it Stockholm Syndrome instead.

So many fancy names, so many excuses to cover something they didn't want to understand. Bruce, at least, didn't attempt to make her talk, or ask her probing questions. As with his own trauma, he stayed silent.

And it had made him stronger.

So would her 'trauma' make her stronger. Not that it had ever been trauma, or at least the kind of trauma that weakened a person. Her life, her carefully controlled life, had been snatched from her, by Jonathan, so easily. And even though she was back, she was home…things could never be the same. She was not the same.

She simply told Harvey she needed time, and smiled weakly at Bruce, seeing beneath his mask. She wouldn't let him see beneath hers.

She smiled, she laughed, she went back to work after the new ADA decided to run for DA in Washington. She went back to Harvey, although she never let him do more than kiss her. Some things were now too ingrained to be masked. Her body belonged to one man, and one man only.

And all the while, she felt their pity, their contempt, their rejection.

_There goes the Dawes woman. Didn't you hear, she was kidnapped by that lunatic, used to be Director at Arkham? Raped her apparently. Have you seen the bite mark on her neck?_

Rachel could hear it even now, as if she had gained the power of telepathy, and it made her sick, it made her angry.

She didn't know where he was, or how she could find him. She didn't know what had happened to Snow or Shadow. But she would find him, find them, and when she did…

Well, she was still torn between tormenting him into insanity even more, or just killing him. Although torment sounded better…

* * *

She'd taken to running. It helped ease her confusion, her longing, the steady, consuming rhythm pounding out her emotions and leaving her drained, able to regain the mask she wore daily.

She always went in the early mornings, when the sun was just beginning to creep up and over the skyscrapers of Gotham. The chill winter air, the blanket of silence broken only by a siren, soothed her.

That morning was the twenty third since she had been 'rescued'. She had heard nothing about Jonathan, about Scarecrow, or even Snow and Shadow. She hoped they'd gone back to their pack. If they lingered around the city, they'd be caught and put in the Zoo for sure.

As she ran along the snowy paths, watching her footing on the slippery concrete, past bare, stripped trees and ice-covered ponds in Gotham Park, her footsteps echoed the rhythm of her heart. Steady, unchanging.

She loved him. She loved Jonathan, and being away from him only made that clearer. He was…honourable, in his own way, dignified, and intelligent. He was aggressive, possessive and uncompromising. He lived by his own rules.

She envied that, perhaps she always had. The old Rachel, the one she pretended to be to Harvey, Jim, her mom, even Bruce… she had hated him for that, had seen it as corruption, when all it had been was the refusal to live by the rules of a society as hypocritical as it was corrupt.

And as for the rest…well, Rachel wasn't too happy about being left behind. As soon as she found him, she would make sure he realised that very quickly.

Sometimes she felt like she was two different people. One was Rachel Dawes, a mask she wore every day so as to avoid attracting attention to what lay underneath.

The other was a wild, visceral, uncontrolled creature who yearned for freedom again, true freedom, not the mockery she lived in now. Who longed for her mate's arms, his possessive kiss, to punish those who violated the innocence of others as she had almost been.

She just didn't know how.

Rachel's steps slowed, and she leaned against an icy lamppost beneath a bridge. All the frustration and the fear and the intense longing built up inside of her, and it released itself in an echoing cry, not unlike the one she had uttered the day Jonathan had shown her, her worst fear.

She went cold when she heard a rough, husky voice call from the shadows of the bridge. "You got a pair of lungs on yer, darlin'. Can't wait to hear yer scream again!"

A hulking, beady eyed man emerged, and she eyed him disdainfully. He was bigger and stronger than her, and at that the words dripping from his mouth, she just felt rage.

It gave her strength.

She didn't wait for him to move towards her, she lunged at him, her untrained blows driving him to his knees as she pummelled him. She kicked him in the groin, with all her might, and he groaned as he finally keeled over. Panting hard, her knuckles bloodied, she jumped as the sound of clapping came from the shadows.

She whirled, fists raised, ready to fight again, as a well-dressed man, middle-aged but still fit, with greying hair and piercing eyes watched her steadily.

"You fight well, Miss Dawes, if erratically," he told her, while she watched him warily, staying out of reach of the groaning thug on the floor. "You fight with rage."

"He would have raped me," she replied steadily. "I simply refused to let him."

"It will not stop him. He might become a little more cautious in future, about his targets, but you have only delayed him," the stranger continued. Rachel didn't move. "Do you have the strength to do what is necessary?"

"He would not be the first I have killed," Rachel breathed, the faces of the thugs and Howell flashing across her face.

"No. But those were in self-defence; quick, clean, without thought. He is at your mercy now, disabled and weak. Could you kill him now?" he asked quietly. Rachel turned to look down at her would-be rapist, and felt nothing.

All those years ago, when she had slapped Bruce for taking a gun to Joe Chill's hearing, she had realised that that crime had a reason behind it. Joe Chill had attempted to rob Thomas and Maria Wayne, not for the sake of it, not for pleasure, but for necessity. It didn't make it right, but it made it understandable.

Crimes like these…nothing could justify them.

It was just redressing the balance. Protecting the innocence of others, at any cost.

"Yes," Rachel's voice was unwavering. She looked towards the still moaning thug on the floor, and took one step towards him. A hand restrained her, and she glanced towards the stranger, coldly.

"Not yet. His time will come," he told her, leading her away. "You have something in you, Miss Dawes. I can teach you to utilise it, that rage, that anger, and so spread _**true**_ justice."

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowningly. Her eyes swept over the man before her, faintly familiar, but she couldn't think where. Where had she seen him before? He was clean-shaven, handsome despite his age, trim and tall. Why was he so familiar? "Who are you?"

"All in good time, Miss Dawes," he told her with a faint smile. He handed her a card, with no name and just an address on it. "I will see you at dawn tomorrow morning. Come alone, tell no one."

"And if I do?" she challenged him as he began to walk away. His step didn't falter, as he called back.

"We'll see."

* * *

_**A/N: **_And just who is Rachel's mysterious would-be mentor? ;D

This whole chapter was just to illustrate how much Rachel's morals have slipped slightly, thanks to Crane's intervention. They're still there, in a certain fashion, but her belief in law and the legal system is growing less by the minute, and her own slightly sociopathic tendencies are developing. She still plays the game, but she's getting closer to the edge.


	16. Training

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Rachel didn't tell anyone. She got up before the sun rose, packed her taser and her pepper spray, and left her apartment. She needed to hurry; she had a breakfast date with Harvey at nine.

She hurried to the address, the top floor of an apartment block in one of the richer areas of Gotham City. As she stepped out of the elevator, she glanced around at the seemingly empty, open space. All the doors had been stripped away, and the windows were shut tight, draped in dark fabric. The only light came from candles, and gentle incense burned on the air.

Cautiously, Rachel stepped forward into the room, eyes alert. She sensed figures, shapes in the gloom, but she could see nothing. Her heart raced, her mouth dried, and she fought back the instinctive fear that rose up to choke her.

"Miss Dawes," a familiar voice called. "You have come. Good. But why have you come?"

The stranger from the park yesterday morning stepped from the gloom, clothed in loose training robes, and Rachel watched him carefully.

Was this some sort of test?

"You brought me here," she replied curtly. He smiled, a mere quirk of the lips, and shook his head.

"A literal answer. Good, but our time is limited, Miss Dawes, so we shall not waste it further. What do you seek here?" he called back, taking a step forward. Rachel noted the prowling figures around her, and watched them uneasily.

"What is this? Who are they?" she asked, taking a step forward.

"Disciples of mine who will aid you in your instruction," the stranger explained. "The art of the ninja. But I asked you a question."

Rachel focussed once more on him, and drew herself up. "I came to learn how to defend against those who would take and harm the innocent, to fight injustice, and to turn fear against the feared. To fight," she said, softly but clearly. A satisfied smile lit the stranger's face, and he nodded.

"Good," he purred, stepping closer, hands lightly held behind his back. "But to manipulate the fears in others, you must first master your own."

"I have mastered my fear," she claimed, until she was abruptly knocked onto her back, her ankles swept out from under her. "Hey! I wasn't ready!"

"Your opponents will not wait for you to be ready," the stranger bent over her, holding her eye steadily. "You must fight, and you must be ready for the unseen strike."

"I don't know how," Rachel snarled, pulling herself back to her feet, discarding her winter coat. He regarded her speculatively, before smirking.

"You have the instinct. I saw it myself against your attacker. Use it," he told her, stepping away. This time, Rachel was alert, and listened hard for any sound. She felt, rather than heard, a ripple of sound, of air against fabric, and ducked the fist rushing towards her face.

"In the fight of justice, you will face death, Miss Dawes," the stranger continued, watching her as she backed up, fists raised inexpertly. "Death does not wait, and it is not fair. To survive, you must fight to win, to gain advantage. Consideration, fairness, will only get you killed. Show those weaknesses, and you will face death!"

Rachel felt the boot against her back, knocking her forward. Instinctively, she twisted as she fell, managing to catch the foot that would have dealt a punishing blow to her stomach.

He smiled down at her, pleased. "You have good instincts, Miss Dawes, but instinct alone cannot save you. We will teach you discipline, technique, the arts of the shadows themselves."

As Rachel pushed herself to her feet, body aching from its punishment, she met his eye squarely.

"You fear the loss of control," he continued. "But loss of control means more than losing control of your life. Doing so is a fact, a trial we all must face, as you have. We will teach you to take it back."

* * *

Rachel came to be glad for the spare change of clothes she always brought. After that first punishing morning, her instructor did not keep her in darkness again, but opened the drapes, allowing light to fill the apartment, as he tutored her in the different martial arts.

She accumulated cuts and bruises. Her mentor didn't pull his punches just because she was a woman. She told Harvey and her mom that she was taking self-defence classes.

One day, he asked her, "Do you still feel anger over what your lover did to you? To your life?"

She didn't ask him how he knew about Jonathan, or their relationship. He knew a lot of things about her, that made her uncomfortable. She learned to stop asking how he knew, because he was as enigmatic as the night.

"No," she breathed. "Or at least, not anger at him. Just anger that I was vulnerable enough that he could. And anger that he abandoned me afterwards."

Her mentor didn't answer, just nodded to himself. "Come," he murmured, leading her away from the windows and back into his makeshift arena.

* * *

A week after that, he handed her a short blade with an intricately carved handle. "You are a good shot with a pistol or rifle," he told her in explanation. They had experimented with them some weeks before, albeit with silencers. "But guns are not reliable and they can betray you. A blade will never do so. It is quick, silent and deadly."

Rachel nodded, and raised the blade, adjusting her grip according to his instruction. Silently, she copied his every move, watching his graceful dance out of the corner of her eye, and following.

"Your anger gives you strength, as your instinct keeps you alive," he continued, as she listened and copied his every move. "I will teach you to face that anger, to hone that instinct. I can teach you to fight multitudes of opponents and come away victorious."

Abruptly, his blade came down on hers and Rachel instinctively blocked before dancing away. He came at her again, and she parried, remembering the move before slipping under his guard and attacking. He parried, and they moved back and forth, blades always coming within an inch of their bodies, until he disarmed her with a flick of his blade, cutting her arm.

"You cannot win on strength alone," he told her as she rested, panting, one hand applying pressure to the oozing cut. "You do not possess it. You cannot be the rock; therefore you must become the wind."

"I don't understand?" she glanced up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. He smiled and nodded.

"You are small and lithe, more like a deer than the lion you must emulate. You can improve your strength but you should not rely on it to win; rely on your speed and agility. These will help you better than brute strength. But the key is intelligence."

Rachel nodded, and raised her blade. Approval bloomed in her mentor's eyes, and he raised his own sword. "Again."

* * *

He did not only show her how to fight. He showed her how to utilise fear, through theatricality, deception and trickery. One morning, he stopped her from picking up her weapon and instead showed her a table of jars and bottles.

"Mastery of martial arts is one thing, Rachel," he explained, eyes twinkling slightly as he watched her sceptical face. "But when used with deception, you will be unstoppable. People fear what they cannot see; I can teach you to become truly invisible."

Rachel felt a rush of air, and glanced up to see several black-robed disciples watching her, seemingly appeared from nowhere. She remembered all the times Bruce had disappeared, seemingly without a trace, in front of her as Batman.

Her teacher smiled as he held up a pinch of some odd black powder, throwing it on the ground. Rachel only flinched slightly when it exploded in front of her eyes. Wordlessly, she took a pinch and repeated it, mind considering the possibilities.

* * *

Now she had the basics of martial combat, he started teaching her the intricacies of ninjitsu. As she balanced on narrow beams and blocked attacks from his disciples, leaping over wooden staves, fending off blows to her feet, falling on her backside more than once, his words continually rang in her ears.

"The ninja understands that invisibility is a matter of patience and agility. Always mind your surroundings, never let your anger cloud your judgement. Find your focus and use it to channel that anger and that instinct, until they become your weapons. Do not be reluctant to deceive or to trick. Become more than what you are, and the battle is half won."

As the months passed, Rachel's body hardened and strengthened. Beneath the suits and the cool exterior of the ADA, she was slowly becoming a warrior. A force for justice.

* * *

One day, he came to her and taught her to buckle on a pair of metal bracers, spiked along the sides. They felt heavy and cumbersome on Rachel's forearms.

"You have come far in a short time, Rachel," her mentor told her, circling her with a blade. She had taken to calling him 'Yoda' in her mind, since he wouldn't tell her his name. That nagging sense of familiarity remained, but Rachel still couldn't remember where she had seen him before. Much of his training, his wisdom, baffled her at times, as well as reminding her of Bruce. Had he learned this, somewhere on his travels when he disappeared? "Your instincts and your body are honed. You are in control once more. You have the will to act, and the knowledge to win. You are nearly ready."

"You fight without hesitation, without pity against me and my men, but are you ready to do so against those without decency, like Mr Howell, who would have violated you while you lay vulnerable?" he continued, and Rachel froze.

"How do you know about that?" she asked cautiously. 'Yoda' merely inclined his head.

"I have my ways and means, but not the sources you suspect," he explained, and she deflated slightly, both relieved and disappointed it had not been Jonathan. "Now to business…"

Rachel had a moment to prepare, as he suddenly lashed out, and then the fight was back on once more. No more did she pant and collapse after only a few minutes; the raw fitness she'd had from running and general exercise had been hardened and toned into steely muscle and sinew, flexible limbs and fast hands. Their battle raged back and forth, and she wasn't surprised when she saw the flash of another sword out of the corner of her eye. She ducked it, rolling to the floor and back up, blocking first 'Yoda's' blow, then his disciple's, before backing away, eyes tracking her opponents. Exhilaration flooded through her, as she dropped into a sideways roll, feinting and dancing away from their blows until she reached the wall where two swords always hung. She aimed a kick at the disciple, forcing him to jump back before ducking 'Yoda's' blade and jumping up to grab the hilt of the one of the blades. It was an old-fashioned, European cavalry sabre, not like her _Uchigatana_, the short, curving blade almost slicing the air in half.

She caught 'Yoda's' downward blow in the cross of her blades, before twisting and kicking him away. The disciple came at her, and then another, and then another. Her blood pounding in her veins, Rachel almost laughed from the sheer _power_ running through her veins. She caught a blow on her bracer, forcing it back before spinning and driving the spikes into her opponent's thigh, disabling him.

Suddenly the room was thrown into darkness, the only light a few dim candles. Rachel fought back the sudden panic, and controlled her breathing as she had been taught. Cautiously, she moved through the room, making sure her tread was light and quiet, her breathing silent, her movements noiseless. Her ears strained for any sound.

Nearly three decades of living in Gotham had prepared her well. She didn't need her eyes to sense where her opponents waited. With a grim smile, she incapacitated one, while the other attacked, but she parried and danced back into the shadows.

Another came at her, and she ducked beneath their swing to slice their arm, before retreating back into the shadows. They welcomed her, enshrouded her in their cool embrace, and for the first time since waking up alone in that cell, she felt…free.

Silently, she moved in on the last, and placed her blade at his throat.

Applause, a single clap, filled the air and the darkness lifted to find 'Yoda' walking towards her, approval glowing in his eyes.

"You have come far, Rachel. Soon, you will be ready but there is one final test," he told her quietly.

"What?" she asked, sheathing her blade and dropping the sabre. Her body still sang with the exhilaration of the fight. With a surge of triumph, she noticed a small gash on 'Yoda's' arm. She had marked him, her mentor, her teacher.

He snapped his fingers, and two more disciples in black melted from the shadows, leaving the room for one of the few separate rooms. They returned with a bound, snivelling man, bloodied and crying.

With a jolt, Rachel recognised her would-be attacker from the park. 'Yoda' smiled grimly.

"We found him trailing a young woman home from her workplace," he told her quietly, as he was forced to his knees in front of her. "You know what he would have done to her."

"Yes," Rachel breathed, meeting the thug's eyes coldly. They widened with recognition, and he whined piteously.

"I have taught you all I know, to become one with the darkness, to utilise deception and agility as well as martial knowledge and strength. You have faced your fears and conquerored them. Now, you must learn to become fear, in order to mete out _**true**_ justice. You must learn to bask in the fear of others."

As Rachel unsheathed her blade, the parasite's eyes widened further, and his entire body shook as the blade gleamed hungrily in the dim light. She stepped forward, aware of her teacher behind her at all times, still talking, his words like an executioner's drumbeat.

"You will become a terrible thought, a shadow, a dream, an idea in the minds of those who seek to destroy the weak. You must have the courage to do what is necessary, to cure the disease before it can spread further."

"Fear can cloud, it can distort, it can _**control**_. And this power is now yours," he told her calmly, as she raised her blade. "Use it. Use it and save the lives of those you seek to defend."

Rachel met the thug's eyes, dull blue shot through with green, glazed by pain and fear. She hesitated only a second.

Her blade flashed. Crimson stained its gleaming surface.

* * *

She was having lunch with Harvey when she heard it on the news. After the news of more killings, more robberies where the perpetrator left only a calling card, the 'Joker' card from a deck of playing cards, it appeared two wolves had been caught lurking in one of Gotham's parks. They were being held at the Zoo.

Snow. Shadow.

Rachel was careful not to allow any sign of concern to show on her face, as Harvey went over the briefs for the Maroni case due in court soon, and she picked at her sandwich.

As soon as she could, loaded with case files and briefing notes, she escaped with a kiss, dumping her stuff in her rented apartment, before hurrying to the apartment block where her mentor awaited her. They usually only met in the mornings, before she went to work, but he had sent her a message to come that evening, as the sun fell. She strode through Gotham's streets, unafraid, confident, her coat flapping around her legs like the wings of a bat.

Above her, in the sky, the Bat signal glowed.

Looking at it inevitably drew her mind back to her last test. She felt no regret killing that man, that thug. He was a predator, and no prison cell or rehabilitation programme would have stopped him from hurting someone again. She was just restoring the balance after he had destroyed God knew how many lives.

She would do what was necessary. She was not afraid.

* * *

The apartment was empty, devoid of life as she stepped out from the elevator. It _clanged _shut behind her, and she paused, thrown. Incense still burned, weapons littered the walls, but her mysterious mentor had gone. On the central table sat a box, with a note to her. She crossed the room and opened it curiously.

_Rachel,_

_I regret it is necessary to terminate our association, but it is necessary. You are ready, regardless, to fulfil the mission you yourself decided upon when you came to me. _

_Inside is all you will need to do what you must. All the rest, this building, the weapons and everything else, I leave to you._

_Good luck._

Smirking wryly, shaking her head, Rachel crumpled the note, burning it on the candle beside the box, watching it shrivel before turning back to the box. She opened it, marvelling at its craftsmanship, before pulling out the items inside.

First came the bracers she had used that morning, cleaned and gleaming dully in the candlelight. Her fingers grazed leather beneath it, and something softer beside that. Silently, she removed a package wrapped in silk, and her fingers pulled aside the clinging material to reveal a silvery grey mask, that would cover the top half of her face, leaving only her eyes uncovered.

She needed to become a symbol, an idea in the minds of her enemies. This would help her to do so.

_My sweet little she-wolf…_

Jonathan's voice in her head made her smile, as she pulled the leather bodysuit from the box, and held it up.

She would not become the lion. No, she would be a wolf. A wolf. How appropriate.

She would start first with Shadow and Snow, and then she would send a message to the people and the scum of Gotham.

Then she would find Jonathan, at last. At last, she was ready, unafraid, resolute.

She was free.


	17. The Great Escape

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Rachel waited for a night she knew Harvey was busy, before making the attempt to break her girls out of the Zoo. The day before, she had gone in, mapping out the area, identifying where and how she would get in, what security would be on, what alarms she'd have to evade.

Just as she'd been trained.

It would be easy. It wasn't like Gotham Zoo was Fort Knox; she could get in and out with minimal danger.

She waited for the sun to set before hurrying to the apartment block, dumping her work clothes and bag, before slipping into the ensemble her mentor had left her.

Her new skin.

Putting the mask on, feeling it cling to her face, she shivered. Behind a mask, all the cares and worries of her other life faded away, and the rush of freedom was exquisite. As she glanced over herself in the mirror, making sure she was unrecognisable to anyone, especially Bruce or Gordon, she smiled at her reflection.

Gone was the ADA, and now the predator within her was free, and it was time to hunt.

First Snow and Shadow, then Jonathan.

* * *

It was almost child's play to slip into the deserted Zoo. The night watchmen were bored, and she had actually walked past the front desk guard, fast asleep in his chair, drool hanging from one corner of his open mouth.

Once inside, she had hurried to the Wolf compound, knowing that her girls would be kept in quarantine for weeks before joining the rest of the captive pack. She ducked into the shadows as a guard walked past, flashlight in hand. Once he had passed, she slipped back out into the pathway, her soft-soled boots silent on the stone floor. She made sure to keep away from the CCTV cameras, either by staying in the shadows, going around them or edging past underneath them.

She ran into her first snag when she reached the quarantine building. A CCTV camera was directed right at the door, and there was no way she could creep past unseen. She couldn't take the risk that the security guards would be too comatose to notice.

So she just needed to adjust it a little…

With a grin, she pulled a small knife from her boot, the hilt carved with a wolf's head. She raised it, took aim…

This had to work. If it spun too far or too little, it would be worse than useless.

The blade embedded in the concrete, but the hilt caught the camera. Rachel waited with bated breath as it spun, just enough, until it faced the wall.

She'd done it!

Quickly checking the way, she hurried to the door, kneeling down and eying the lock. Unlike some areas of the Zoo, the Wolf compound hadn't been updated with new keypad locks, so this would be child's play.

She hadn't even learned this from Yoda. This was a skill she had learned during childhood, growing up in Wayne Manor with Bruce.

With a hair grip and one of her knives, she worked at the lock, grinning as it clicked open. She slipped inside.

Immediately a cacophony of yelps and growls greeted her in the darkness, as an alarm went off.

"Damn it!" she growled, as a red klaxon flashed on the wall. Eying the cages, she ran across to them, noticing that the locks were all controlled from a panel at the far end of the room. Ignoring the growls and howling as the alarm blared, she unlocked all the doors, setting their inmates free, hoping it would give her a distraction.

The _thud_ of paws filled the air, as the captive animals burst free. Rachel only hoped they wouldn't turn on her, but they scented the night air and ran for freedom.

Suddenly a wet nose bumped her hand, and she turned around. The light was poor, but she could just about make out a pair of glowing blue eyes and a white ruff.

Snow.

"Hey girl," she murmured. The wolf yipped, then pressed close. "Where's your sister?"

A deep growl alerted her to Shadow's presence, as the older wolf emerged from the darkness. Rachel smiled, feeling a little piece of herself lock back into place.

"Let's get out of here," she breathed, heading towards the exit. Outside it was pandemonium, as the wolves ran riot, chasing the security guards off. Rachel walked right through them all, the wolves stopping to scent her, growling softly, but the answering growls from Snow and Shadow saw them turn back to their sport.

They accepted her as one of their own.

"Hey! Hey you!" one of the guards attempted to call after Rachel, but she ignored him. Dodging a snarling animal, he rushed after her, reaching out to grab her shoulder but she twisted and caught his wrist, snapping it to the side, before kicking him in the solar plexus. He dropped to his knees, cradling his injured wrist, winded. With a satisfied grimace, Rachel turned away.

* * *

Finding Jonathan would be much more difficult than her four-legged friends. There was also the troubling thought that he didn't _**want**_ her to find him. For all her newfound knowledge and skills, she was still no closer to understanding why he had left her for the police to find.

Knowing him, she probably never would.

However, recalling the meeting with the Chechen's men, she had an idea. And thanks to years in the DA's office, she knew just where to find them.

* * *

Screams led her to the place where some of the Chechen's men drank and lounged around between jobs. Outside the club located in the Narrows, The Black Hole, three men Rachel remembered from their mug shots as Mob enforcers were taunting a young girl. Two had been up on rape charges before, but they had never been proven. The other was younger, barely an adult, but the disgusting anticipation in his eyes as he eyed the girl was enough to make Rachel sick.

One look at the girl was enough. This was no prostitute, unless hookers were now wearing jeans and an ACDC t-shirt.

Beside her Snow and Shadow both growled menacingly, sharing her anger. She reined it in, looking out from the shadows, as the screams grew louder, and the jeering more crude.

They'd regret ever going near her. With a glance towards her girls, they lunged forward, out of the shadows, jumping over the girl and snapping at the men. They fell back, jeers turning into shrieks of rage and fear as the wolves snarled at them.

Rachel stepped over the wide-eyed girl, a blade already in her hand. "Sorry boys!" she called. "But that's the end of the show tonight."

She looked down at the girl. "Run. You don't want to see what's coming next," she hissed. The girl pushed back dirty blonde hair and nodded, visibly trembling. Rachel turned back to her prey, testing the weight of the blade in her hand.

"Didn't your mothers ever teach you manners? No means no," she snarled at them. One of them, the eldest, laughed cockily.

"You can't do nothing to us, chick," he scoffed. "We just get her another night. So unless you want to take her place…"

"Tempting but I'll pass," Rachel replied coolly. All three men pulled guns on her from their waistbands, making Snow and Shadow growl menacingly, their teeth gleaming in the gloom. "Now, that's no way to treat a lady."

She spun and two knives flicked from her hands, embedding themselves deep into the necks of two of the thugs. They collapsed with pained moans, their dying spasms setting their guns off. Snow and Shadow pounced on the last, holding him down as Rachel kicked his gun away.

He wasn't so cocky now. She withdrew another knife from her boot, leaning over him with a cold smile.

"Please…" he gasped.

"If she had begged you, would you have let her go?" Rachel asked, teasing the blade over the thug's face, tears of fear and desperation beginning to leak from his eyelids. "You're a very bad boy, and bad boys are made example of."

"What are you?" he hissed, as Snow's teeth sank into his shoulder.

"Justice," she whispered, with an almost sad smile, before her blade flashed and crimson sprayed the air.

One of the men was still alive, barely, and Rachel bent over him. It was the youngest of the crew, and his eyes widened in fear at the sight of her.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she told him soothingly. "It's ok. But I need information, and I'll call you an ambulance. When is your boss next meeting the Scarecrow?"

"Y-you…promise…you'll call…an…ambulance?" the thug begged. Rachel nodded. He drew in a shuddering breath, and coughed, blood spurting from his mouth. He didn't have long. "Tomorrow night. Boss said…the bastard…gonna…pay for bad drugs."

"Where?" she snarled.

"Park Street…Multi-story…" the thug's breathing worsened, and Rachel raised her head. "Y-you promised…"

"A promise to scum like you means nothing. But don't worry, I'll be quick," she promised him, as she stood upright, eying him disgustedly. "You won't feel a thing. Unlike your erstwhile victim…"

He didn't even have time to scream.


	18. A New Legend

On The Brink Of Control

* * *

Jonathan was not having a good night.

To tell the truth, he had not been having a good night for a very long time. Several months, by his reckoning.

Ever since he let Rachel go.

_You shouldn't have let her go…you're an idiot; I'm always saying this…_

Yes, thank you Scarecrow, that is not helping!

Or so he mentally snapped back at his alter ego as he was shoved back against a wall by the Batman, his hands tied by cuffs. His body ached from the abrupt stop to his escape, after his meeting with the Chechen went wrong. He should have just killed the damned fool, when he had the chance!

At least the Batman's sudden appearance, the true Batman at any rate, had one advantage. For the first time since being gassed with his own toxin, he had felt _**fear**_ for the first time, and it had been exhilarating. That tiny knot of nausea in the stomach, the cold sweat, the nervous anticipation…

He had almost missed that.

There were things he missed more, like the feel of Rachel's skin, or the warm pulse of her against his tongue. The thrill of research, the surge of power when consulting with a patient. His dabbling with the League of Shadows had left him in the dark, isolated and stripped of everything he once took for granted. Some he did not miss, such as the sickeningly polite, civil face he had to put on for society at large, nor the constant kowtowing to the elite of Gotham. He was the Master of Fear, their superior and worst nightmare. He knew things about them that could turn them into gibbering wrecks of their former selves.

Scarecrow angrily retreated to the back of Jonathan's mind, as his burlap mask was ripped away, giving him an unimpeded view of the Batman's masked visage. His eyes roamed the tiny part of his face left uncovered, a handsome mouth and a strong jaw. Intense eyes burned coldly into his, as he just smirked and leant his head back against the wall nonchalantly.

Let them put him back in prison, or Arkham. He'd be back out in days.

He was doing them all a bloody favour really. His drugs, laced with his toxin, left those who survived them with a permanent fear of drugs, and needles. He made them go cold turkey faster than any rehab ever could.

And if they went insane…well, their minds were weak anyway. He was doing his old workplace a favour by keeping them in business.

"Don't let me find you out here again!" the Batman growled at the vigilante tied up next to Jonathan.

Vigilantes. They almost made Jonathan laugh, they were so pathetic. They were about as much threat as a Chihuahua to him. Particularly the one he caught with his toxin, canisters hanging from his belt that were attached to a delivery system on his right arm. One spray, and he was down for the count, and still moaning piteously where the Batman had tied him up.

_Pity you didn't give him a stronger dose. At least it would have stopped the whining by now!_

"We're trying to help you!" the vigilante replied indignantly. The Batman turned away, the cockpit of his…whatever the hell that was, opening with a pneumatic hiss.

"I don't need help!" he replied coolly, his voice deep, hoarse. No man had a voice like that, unless he had significant trauma to the larynx and voice box, but Jonathan suspected it was more a case of disguising the Batman's voice than anything else.

So the Batman's voice was familiar enough that he had to hide it. Interesting.

In any case, he couldn't resist one last shot at him, as the Batman got into his vehicle. "Not my diagnosis!"

The Batman didn't answer, as the sound of police sirens filled the air. The damned vigilante didn't know when to shut up.

"What gives you the right? What's the difference between you and me?"

"I'm not wearing hockey pads," was the cool reply, and even Jonathan had to admit, he had a point. The vigilante looked ridiculous with his improvised mask and cowl, the padding passing for armour, and the raggedy cloak.

Blessed silence fell as the Batman flew from the scene, and they did not have long to wait before three squad cars showed up, no doubt alerted by the Batman.

"Hey! Rodriguez! We got the loony doctor!" one pointed at him with a smirk, and Jonathan rolled his eyes. If he were free…

"Heard they got a nice padded cell waiting for you in Arkham!" the other called, Rodriguez, while the other two cops concentrated on securing and transferring the prisoners into the back of the squad cars.

Rodriguez. The name rang a bell…ah yes, psyche evaluations three years ago, for the Gotham Police Department. He had failed Rodriguez on a concern for violent behaviour when he applied for SWAT.

He was stuck as a beat cop after that.

"And how are you liking your time on the streets, Rodriguez?" he called tauntingly, as the Hispanic officer glared at him. "Did SWAT say no…_**again**_?"

"Listen to me, you little piece of-" Rodriguez stalked close, but Jonathan just grinned. Then a slow, sickening smile dawned on his face, as he looked at one of his fellow officers, a Sergeant. "Hey, sergeant. Didn't this whacko gas one of your mates? Kenny?" he called over, as the officer turned.

"Yeah, that's right. He's still in Arkham because of you and your filth!" he spat, coming over to join his friend. "There's a lot of people in County who are looking forward to seeing you, Crane. Maybe we'll just soften you up, first. Can't let the scum have all the fun!"

Jonathan wasn't afraid at all. Pain had been a part of his life since birth; there was nothing these vermin could do to him that would break him.

He stayed bored, even as Rodriguez roughly pulled him to his feet, and punched him in the gut. He doubled over, more for show than anything else although it _**was**_ uncomfortable, before the sergeant cracked his lip with an upper-cut.

* * *

Officer Jane Kendall was a rookie, but even she had heard of the notorious Scarecrow, and his involvement in that weird night nearly two years before. She knew what he had done, but still…this wasn't right.

"Sir," she murmured to the other officer quietly, eyes on the prisoner as he was beaten by Rodriguez and Sergeant James. "This isn't right. We shouldn't-"

"Relax, Kendall," the older cop scoffed, dismissing her with a wave. "He's one sick bastard who hurt a lot of people. Trust me, he's getting off lightly."

"It's not right-" Kendall protested again, stepping forward, but the rest of her words were drowned out by a chilling, piercing howl that rent the air. Rodriguez and James paused, Crane on the floor between them, face bloodied and panting.

It was joined by a second, tearing the air around them. The cries of hunters, on the scent.

The lights flicked out, but for one, directly behind the police cars, and the howls died down into gentle growls, menacing and chilling, as Kendall drew her gun.

"What the hell-?" Rodriguez reached for his gun, as James ran for the radio in the squad car, leaving Jonathan slumped on the floor. But as he reached for the car door, a knife flew from the shadows, piercing James' hand and pinning it to the metal. He cried out in agony, as Kendall backed towards the cars. The knife had a wolf's head carved into the top of the pommel.

Another knife flew from the shadows, flicking just past her face, a clear warning. Kendall froze, as Rodriguez moved away from Crane, and the other officer drew his gun.

Two shapes emerged from the gloom, black, grey and white. Were they wolves?

Their eyes glowed eerily, hungrily, as they stalked nearer. Kendal kept still, remembering reports of that masked nut who set free the quarantined wolves at the Zoo the night before. The papers reckoned she was an animal rights activist, but as the figure emerged from the gloom behind the wolves, Kendall knew they'd got it very wrong.

This was no animal rights activist.

The figure was tall, slender, long graceful limbs shrouded by dark leather, only slightly covered by a sleeveless grey fur coat, draping her curves, skirting the floor. More knives gleamed at her belt, and in her boots, while two holsters were strapped to her upper thighs.

A dark silver mask obscured features already masked by the luscious dark hair that tumbled in free curls down her body, black interposed with icy white.

Like the coats of the wolves that followed her tamely, watching the police officers warily.

Jonathan knew those wolves, he knew that body, altered though it was. Rachel, his Rachel.

"Ok, lady! That's close enough!" Rodriguez recovered enough to shout, his hand shaking. Kendall didn't blame him, she was terrified. "Put your hands on your head and kneel on the floor!"

"What? So you can beat up another suspect in your care? I think not!" the masked woman growled, and she had drawn her guns with an almost preternatural speed that made Kendall gasp. Within seconds, before Kendall could even think about pulling the trigger, Rodriguez dropped his gun with a howl, blood pouring from his hand where the bullet had clipped it. The other officer collapsed to the floor, James howled again as a bullet pierced his thigh, and Kendall felt the blistering pain as a bullet grazed her leg, making her drop her gun and collapse to the ground.

As she gazed up at the dark figure that towered over her, dark eyes burning fiercely, she knew they hadn't been accidental misses. She hadn't tried to kill them.

She leant down, stroking Kendall's mussed hair almost tenderly. "You need to speak up for what's right more often," she told her softly, before a blow to the back of the skull sent the young rookie spiralling into unconsciousness.

* * *

Jonathan watched with bated breath as Rachel rose from her crouch over the female cop, now unconscious on the floor. She turned towards the other three, scornfully.

"This is how Gotham's finest act, is it? Sinking to the same level of the scum who haunt our streets!" she snarled, and she lashed out with one fist, taking down one of the officers, the older one who had told the girl not to interfere. She turned towards James and Rodriguez, dark vengeance burning in her eyes.

She took Jonathan's breath away. All those months apart had transformed her, and it made his heart pound with lust and pride.

Turning her back on the two bleeding police officers, she turned to him, kneeling beside him and taking his arm. "Are you ok?" she asked quietly. Her eyes roamed his face and body, the ripped, dirty suit and torn burlap mask. "You look like hell. Was there _**anywhere**_ they didn't hit you?"

"It's nice to see you too dear," he quipped sarcastically, ignoring the pain of his injuries. Those incompetent cops hadn't hurt him seriously; they were minor at worst.

"Enough with the sarcasm, _**honey**_, or I might just leave you here," she snapped back. Oh, how he had missed her fire.

His eyes rose to the bleeding cops, one of whom had risen to his feet.

"You still have some messes to clean up," he told her, and she turned, eying her prey. She shook her head as she stood, tall and elegant in her leather catsuit and furs, fake he was sure, and eyed the cop.

"Some guys just don't know when to quit, do you?" she muttered rhetorically. Rodriguez spat at her as he raised his gun, in his uninjured hand.

"Bitch!"

"Now that's no way to talk to a lady!" she replied coolly, her heel flicking up as she spun, kicking away the gun as it discharged, flying off and into the shadows. Rachel followed up with a knee to his jaw, making him fly backwards. James pulled the knife from his hand with a yell, and lunged at her with it. Rachel caught his wrist, snapped it back and wrested it from him, turning and swiping it down in her hand, so it slashed across his chest.

Rodriguez rushed at her, and she was forced to let go of James long enough to turn and duck his wild punch, kneeing him in the stomach, then actually _**lifting **_him and throwing him away. He hit the squad car with a _**crunch**_ and didn't get up again. She felt a hand grab at her other arm, trying to get it in a lock, but she rolled her eyes scornfully. "You guys really can't take a hint," she sighed, as she turned, batting his hand away and grabbing his throat, squeezing hard as she kneed him in the groin, making him collapse to his knees, choking.

"What the hell are you?" he gasped, as she stood over him, breathing hard.

"Justice," she hissed, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "Tell Gordon this wolf takes care of her own."

As she turned away, she spun and flung herself into a spinning kick, her boot crashing into the side of James' head, and knocking him out.

"Impressive," Jonathan breathed, painfully. His ribs were stinging. Snow and Shadow had sat beside him while the fight had gone on, watching their mistress carefully for signs that she needed them, Snow even barking in an almost amused tone a few times.

"Enjoy the show?" Rachel asked, turning back to him, hands on hips. Jonathan's voice was roughened by lust when he answered.

"Immensely," he hissed, standing with a grimace. She saw it, flitted forward, taking his arm. He felt her breath hitch as their bodies brushed together.

"Come on," she breathed, glancing towards her girls. "Come on, girls."

* * *

Like the creatures of darkness they were, the four disappeared into the shadows long before the police showed up to find nothing more than four unconscious, injured, bleeding cops, four shocked, injured vigilantes, three terrified enforcers, and another wolf's head knife.

Just like the one left at the crime scene at the Zoo, and the alleyway outside the Black Hole.

By morning, the papers had dubbed Rachel the 'Wolf of Gotham'. A new legend was born.

* * *

**A/N:** Jonathan and Rachel's **real** reunion, away from prying eyes. Our ol' Scarecrow got some explaining to do!


	19. Home

On The Brink Of Control

_**A/N: **_**Now, I know that in the Nolan movies, Crane has as much martial combat expertise as a wet flannel when you take away his fear toxin, but…what can I say? I'm a sucker for fight!make-up!sex. And I know Crane could throw down in the comics too.**

**Plus…a kung fu style called 'Crane'. How could I pass that up? ;P**

* * *

Rachel didn't say another word to Jonathan until they arrived outside of her apartment block.

He eyed it, surprised. He'd been keeping tabs on Rachel after she was picked up by the police, so he knew about her running, and the mysterious trips each morning, but none of his men had successfully tailed her. She had always managed to elude them.

So he hadn't known about her…extracurricular activities. But it was obvious from her display in the parking lot that she was no longer the vulnerable yet strong woman he had once known, her fire and her spirit honed into a weapon.

He could think of only one man who would do such a thing. Ra's Al Ghul.

He was supposed to have died during the fiasco with Batman and the monorail, but if Rachel's new talents were anything to go by, that was clearly untrue. So was Rachel League of Shadows now?

Somehow he doubted that. He had no doubt Rachel now regarded society with the same contempt he did, but she would never kill innocents to achieve a goal.

The men she'd killed the night before…they were far from innocent. He'd seen the newspapers, saw the photos, hoped and suspected…but the reality surpassed his wildest imaginings.

_Hasn't turned out too bad, has she? Not to mention, she's ten times hotter if that's possible…_

Sometimes Jonathan idly wondered why he had to develop a secondary personality with such a childish mindset at times. Hot? Really? How infantile…

_Don't act coy with me, Jonny boy. You've been looking…_

Well, he wasn't going to deny _**that**_. However, the word hot did not, in his opinion, do Rachel justice. More breathtaking, intoxicating, truly, inescapably beautiful…

_Sheesh, Shakespeare, lay off before I start vomiting. I'm sure our girl won't appreciate vomit all over her nice new getup…_

Lovely, Scarecrow. Just lovely.

* * *

The foyer was silent and pitch black when Rachel pulled Jonathan inside, finding her way over to the elevator by memory, Snow and Shadow following like silent ghosts in the night. A police siren whined in the distance.

The apartment was only dimly lit when she helped him inside. Since her mentor had mysteriously disappeared, Rachel had dragged in an old mattress, blankets and pillows in case she ever needed to just get away. A comfortable pile of the same was laid out in one corner for the wolves. Two long trestle tables stood a few feet from the elevator, flanked by a couple of chairs. Rachel released Jonathan to strike a match and light a few candles. Technically the building was supposedly deserted on the top floor, so she had to be careful how much light escaped. Snow and Shadow gladly went to their bed, curling up, nose to tail, and going straight to sleep.

Jonathan couldn't help but smirk. Anyone would think they were tame dogs the way they acted around Rachel.

Speaking of which…

Rachel shoved him down into a chair. "Stay there," she told him coolly. "I'm getting a first aid kit."

She slung her fur over the table, sliding off her gloves, revealing pale hands he remembered well. His gaze travelled unconsciously to the makeshift bed while he spoke.

"Nice little bolthole you got here," he murmured. "An escape whenever Dent gets too sickeningly noble for you to stand?"

Rachel slammed the first aid box onto the table with more force than she intended. "If I were you, Crane, I'd shut that overly smart mouth of yours. Our relationship doesn't give you the right to mock him," she told him curtly, and Jonathan's fists clenched on his lap.

"Do I detect a note of fondness in your tone, Rachel? Don't tell me you went back to his bed so quickly?" he shot back, and she glared at him hotly.

"You have no right to ask that, Crane. As far as I'm concerned, we have nothing to say to each other," she replied coldly, taking out some antiseptic and cotton pads. "Now take your shirt off. I need to see what those cops did to you."

Jonathan shook his head, not angered in the least. He knew from the way her body had, momentarily, trembled against his back in the parking lot, that she was still very much his.

As soon as she was close enough, he reached out and pulled her into his lap, shuddering at the familiar, soft weight of her against him. "Back to Crane now, are we?" he breathed against her lips. Rachel cursed the way her body was already softening to his, anticipating his kiss.

"You've got a nerve after just leaving me behind without so much as an explanation!" she snapped, and he smiled, shaking his head.

"Ahh, so this is what this is all about," he sighed. "I am truly sorry about that, Rachel, and apologies do not pass my lips often. But it was necessary."

Rachel's doe eyes narrowed behind the mask. "Not good enough," she replied shortly, pushing away from him. "Shirt. Off. Now."

Jonathan rolled his eyes, sighing. He grimaced as he undid the worn fabric, shrugging it off with his jacket. Rachel took off her mask, throwing it nonchalantly on the table before undoing her jacket, revealing toned muscles and smooth skin. His mouth started watering.

She refused to meet his gaze as she firmly yet carefully tended to his flesh wounds. Jonathan frowned; that would not do. She was not escaping him now.

"I must say you came further than I ever anticipated," he murmured, in a hiss. "I read about your exploits in the Gotham Times. Impressive."

"They would have raped a young girl if I hadn't stopped them. I was just restoring the balance," Rachel shrugged, still refusing to meet his eye. "Plus who d'you think told me where to find you tonight? You're a hard man to track down."

"And if you hate me so much for my leaving you, why _**did**_ you track me down?" he asked silkily. Rachel stared at him, before turning her back determinedly.

"Don't look at me like that. I am _**not**_ one of your experiments or your hired thugs. I don't answer to you anymore than you answer to me," she snapped, as she undid her holsters, throwing them on one of the trestle tables carelessly. Despite all her training, she didn't feel him move behind her until his arms slid around her waist, pulling her back into his heat.

"You belong to me, Rachel," he hissed in her ear. "And no amount of anger, or denial, can disguise that fact. Tell me, when Dent makes love to you, do you feel it? That loss of control, that possession? Or is your body as cold as ice to him?"

* * *

Rachel didn't want to hear this. Rage at his arrogance, his possessiveness, made her rash as she span in his hold, her elbow snapping across his jaw. Jonathan felt the move, caught it and used her momentum to pull her deeper into his arms. As he met her shining eyes, gleaming with repressed tears, he felt something in his gut twinge, and his grip softened.

Rachel felt it, used it and slipped from his hold, lashing out with her boot but he caught the blow. Off-balance, surprised, she was thrown back onto the mattress, and then he was there, his weight pinning her to the makeshift bed.

Only one thought slipped through the fog his weight induced. Jonathan had martial arts training similar to hers. The move he'd used came from the 'Crane' style of kung fu. She'd never really mastered it, but then she was too short. It required length of limb and extreme self-control over one's body. No surprise Jonathan was adept at it.

Then his body moved against hers, and she arched, hating and loving him for the effect he still had on her.

"Why?" she gasped, meeting his gaze head on, despite how much her body was shaking. "Why did you leave me behind?"

Jonathan felt his will give way. If he wanted her back at his side, he had no choice. "I had to leave you. You would always have doubted me until you saw what your old world thought of you once you returned, until you saw their hypocrisy and contempt for yourself. I have missed you, my Rachel."

She felt his words sink into her soul, and although they angered her at some level, at his blatant manipulation, she still loved him too much. She looked away, as a tear slipped free. His grip around her wrists gentled, and although she had all the leverage she needed to flip him over and take the advantage, she didn't.

"You still belong to me. Your body and your soul know it, so don't fight it," he breathed against her wet cheek. "You love me."

"You arrogant bastard!" she hissed, feeling an aching gap in her chest pulse at his words. "You do not own me!"

"Oh, but I do, Rachel," he hissed, glaring down at her with his intense blue eyes. "You have belonged to me from the very first moment our eyes met across the courtroom. I cannot undo what I have done, but the past is the past. Don't push me away."

Rachel met his eyes squarely, inwardly bolstered by the vulnerability seeping into his eyes. And god, she wanted him. Her body was almost vibrating with need for him.

"Pull a stunt like that again, and I'll kill you myself," she hissed, and he grinned wolfishly.

"Oh, I believe you," he chuckled, before he sobered and met her eyes firmly. "I won't let you go again. You are mine."

He lowered his mouth to hers, _**at last**_, and kissed her hard and deep. Her tongue rose to meet his, urgent and hungry. He groaned against her mouth, and released her wrists to slide his hands beneath her waist, pulling her body up against his.

Rachel gasped, the thick material of her leathers taking the heat of his hands and maximising it until she felt like she was burning alive. His hands slid across her lower back and waist, exploring all he had let go several months before. Rachel reached up and pulled away the wig disguising her long dark hair, letting the curls free. Jonathan moaned, burying his hands in them.

With a gasp, Rachel forced her mouth from under his, arching slightly into him as they both panted for air. "Make me yours again, Jonathan," she gasped. "Please."

Jonathan felt triumph soar in his withered soul, as he gazed down at his sweet little wolf. "As my lady wishes," he growled, leaning his head down so his lips brushed against his mark on her neck. "I will make you forget any other lover. You are mine alone."

"I haven't…been with Harvey. Not since before you took me," she replied, as he met her eyes. A truly warm smile lit his eyes, and he brushed a sweetly tender kiss across her lips. It quickly escalated, as a wave of repressed longing overtook them both until they shook from the force of their shared desire. A hot, moist pool of warmth was spreading through Rachel's body, coiling every muscle tightly until she moaned for release.

Jonathan's hands quickly peeled away her leathers, and she his remaining clothing until they lay, skin to skin, once more. Jonathan's lips brushed against his mark once more, and she arched against him. He moved downwards, suckling the rise of her breasts, torturing her until she cried out.

She possessed the strength to stop him, to overpower him but she did not. The truth of his words, his possession sank into her very soul. Here, now, she belonged to him.

Her mate, her Jonathan.

His fingers trailed down the taut expanse of her stomach and abdomen, until she shuddered and arched beneath him, his fingers playing in the molten heat between her thighs. Rachel welcomed the loss of control as he filled her with his fingers, her core turning to a starburst of heat and pleasure, familiar, welcomed, as she slumped beneath his hot weight.

She wasn't scared of it anymore.

"Do you want me to take control, Rachel? Take it all away until you're begging me for release?" he hissed in her ear, icy eyes blazing with hunger and need.

"Do it. Take it," she breathed. Without warning he flipped her over and thrust into her. One slender hand slid into his hair, pulling him down to kiss her despite the slightly awkward position, as he filled her and she cried out at the blissful sensation. His tongue possessively delving deep into her mouth, he pulled her knee up and out, opening her up to his possession even more, pinning her with his body. He grabbed her hand, the one buried in his hair and pinned it to the bedclothes.

Neither one noticed their grips turning from restraining to tender, as their fingers intertwined. Rachel gasped, eyes closed, mouth open in a silent scream.

He nuzzled her neck, over his mark as he thrust into her, rhythmically, repeatedly, never quite letting go over the edge, while his free hand teased and stroked her silken folds.

The word slipped from him in a heady rush of dizzying pleasure, as her body fit so well to his, giving in to him entirely. "Mine. My Rachel."

"Yours," she gasped, for the first time acknowledging his dominance, his possession of her. Outside, on the streets, in her work, she was her own person. Thanks to him, she lived now by her own rules.

But here, now? She was his, would always be his.

At that single gasped word, Jonathan lost his own control, shattering into a thousand pieces as he fell atop her body, his mouth resting tenderly against the still angry red scar on her neck. His fingers moved swiftly, urgently, over her throbbing core, bringing her to completion beneath him, as she cried out, their knuckles turning white where their hands lay together, entwined, as they rode out the wave of pleasure, intense, all-consuming.

Rachel felt that last missing piece lock back into place inside of her, as her Jonathan slumped beside her, and pulled her close, one arm heavy and possessive around her waist.

At last, she was home.


	20. Body And Mind

On The Brink Of Control

_**A/N: **_**To whichever lovely, wonderful, seriously cool reader who wrote a fan fiction recommendation on tumblr for this story…You are BRLLIANT!**

* * *

Rachel awoke to the feel of fingertips tracing random patterns on her shoulder blade. She stretched luxuriantly, welcoming the slight twinge of pain in her thighs, a physical reminder of the night before. Glancing up, she peered at a gap in one of the drapes, and guessed it wasn't morning yet.

She had time.

"I must say your new moves were rather impressive," Jonathan murmured above her, and she twisted her neck to look up at him, resting her chin on his pectoral. "Where were you instructed?"

"You mean you don't know? You didn't have me followed?" Rachel opened her eyes wide in mock-innocence and shock. He eyed her narrowly, his eyes glittering dangerously beneath a loose lock of hair.

"You're a remarkably hard woman to pin down, Rachel," he grinned, baring his teeth and she shuddered, rolling her eyes. "I'm waiting, my little she-wolf."

Rachel sat up, straddling his hips, meeting his gaze steadily, unafraid of her nakedness in front of him. She raised an imperious brow, and stared him down. "You tell me where you trained first, then I'll tell you."

He considered her intently, long hair ruffled and wild around her shoulders, lips swollen from where he'd kissed and bitten them only hours before, body covered in finger marks and bruises. The pale pink scar tissue on her neck stood out starkly against her creamy skin.

"I think you know where I learned my skills, Rachel," he growled, sitting up and sliding his arms around her waist. She shuddered as her hips rocked against his.

"League of Shadows," she gasped, as he gently tugged at his mark with his teeth, arching her neck back so her breasts and stomach moved into him.

"They thought it necessary I had more to defend myself with than my formula. As it was, no one would have ever suspected it of the cool, aloof Doctor Crane," Jonathan smiled, a slight feral tinge to it that both thrilled and touched her. Since she had seen him last, it was clear he was living rough and uncared for. He looked tired and ill, dark shadows under his eyes and a paleness to his skin that looked almost deathly. It worried her. "And you?"

She explained about the encounter in the park with the thug and 'Yoda', then her training. Jonathan's grip tightened around her waist when she had mentioned the attempted assault, almost unconsciously. As soon as she described her mysterious mentor, and his methods, he recognised him.

So Ra's Al Ghul survived the monorail crash after all, and had returned…to do what? Just to train Rachel? For what purpose?

_Could have been planning to recruit her. But she doesn't have the brand…maybe the Bat scared him off before he could do it? _

Possibly, but for what purpose? Is he going to attempt another attack?

Scarecrow was silent on that and Jonathan didn't have the answer.

* * *

He glimpsed a reluctant, almost guilty expression on Rachel's face as he refocused on her, and he inwardly growled, guessing what was on her mind. The sun would be up in an hour or two.

"You're not going back to him," he snarled bestially. "You don't want to."

"You left me, Jonathan. Somehow I think that lessens your vote on the subject," she snapped back coldly.

"Do you still want Dent? Did your time with me teach you nothing?" he asked, bleakly, and she looked away.

"Of course I don't," she whispered. "I want you. I love you. But it's not that simple; if I just disappeared again, they would come after you…"

Jonathan gaze softened as her body sank submissively against his. "I will think of something," he told her, kissing her softly.

Rachel groaned as his lips travelled back to her neck, and her grip tightened almost savagely in his hair. The pleasure his mouth and body elicited as they moved against hers was enough to make her head spin.

"You don't belong there anymore, Rachel," he whispered against her heart, his tongue lingering on the smooth skin. "You know that. That is why you now put on a mask, to fight and bring true justice to those who elude the law."

Rachel knew he was right, but couldn't resist saying, "I suppose that doesn't also include you? If I recall correctly, Gotham PD has several warrants for your arrest. Shall I take you in, or just kill you now?"

He met her gaze squarely, and she struggled not to flinch under the cold, clinical look in those eyes, one that told he was seriously considering the possibility she would betray him.

For all his madness, Rachel knew she would never turn Jonathan in, or kill him. There were far worse monsters out there than Jonathan Crane. If anything, they should be worshipping him as a hero; he had cleansed her of fear, of the need for control, and now she was so much stronger for it.

And if they couldn't survive it…well, that was their problem.

"What does the Honourable Judge Dawes say?" he replied mockingly, and she glared down at him. With a shove, she pushed him back onto the bed, pinning him with her weight. He lay passively beneath her, unmoving, merely waiting.

"Cleared," she whispered, bending her head to his. He needed no further encouragement; he lunged upwards and kissed her fiercely, before violently twisting her beneath him. She gripped his forearms as he reared over her, one hand already sliding down her slick body to the heated folds between her thighs. She gasped and arched as he played and tormented, then slid one finger in deep, and she rocked against him, the movement of her hips forcing his finger in deeper. He took her lower lip in his mouth and bit gently, as she submitted to him, letting him pin her wrists as he withdrew his hand from her, and thrust into her mercilessly. She arched and groaned his name, as he ruthlessly ensured his would be the only name she'd be thinking about when she left.

* * *

Later that day, as Rachel sat in her chair, at the prosecution's desk, before the judge, she couldn't quite make herself focus.

She had made it back to her apartment with minimal fuss, leaving Jonathan with Snow and Shadow, telling him to stay there and get some proper rest until she could get away that evening.

As soon as she'd clambered back in her bedroom window, she felt that familiar heaviness overtake the sheer freedom she had experienced behind the mask. She had shed her mask, coat and leathers reluctantly, slipping back into the persona of Rachel Dawes, ADA, with a shudder of revulsion.

As she glanced at the bite mark on her neck, she realised a very fundamental truth. This wasn't her anymore. The real Rachel Dawes now existed only in the nightmares of scum and in the arms of a wanted sociopath.

She wanted to escape.

Sighing, she had showered and dressed in her court suit, a smart pinstriped two piece, and then pondered her hair. Setting her jaw, she brushed out the long strands and pinned it up, making sure the mark on her neck was visible to all. She'd be damned if she had to hide all of herself.

Rachel felt only a mild concern as she sat in court, waiting for Harvey to arrive. They'd been working on the Maroni case for weeks, and hopefully that day, they'd nab him.

At least until his Mob lawyers got him out again.

A feral smile flashed across Rachel's face for a moment. Something for the Wolf to attend to, perhaps?

As she glanced towards the slimy, suited Mob boss, she felt that urge rising, the urge to take his life in her hands, and show him what fear really was.

He felt her look, eyed her with a smug grin. Rachel let him see the full extent of her hatred and homicidal urges in her eyes, and that disgusting grin faded slightly.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late, folks!" Harvey's cheerful baritone pierced through the red haze in Rachel's mind, and she blinked back to sanity. Or rather, back into her mask. She glanced at her boss and partner, as he sat down beside her.

His hand stroked hers for a moment, and she allowed it. "Where were you?" she asked coldly, looking down at her papers.

"Worried you'd have to step up?" he joked teasingly, and her head shot around to eye him angrily.

"Harvey, I know these briefs backwards," she snapped, before turning to look back at them. She didn't need his help, especially when it was useless anyway. Maroni would walk, and the only justice capable of stopping him for good wasn't the kind Harvey Dent, Gotham's White Knight, was capable of understanding.

"Well, then," Harvey was oblivious to the darkness in Rachel's eyes, as he produced his lucky coin from his pocket. "Fair's fair. Heads, I'll take it. Tails, he's all yours."

He would be all hers anyway, and she'd enjoy seeing the fear on his face, the fear of all those he'd hurt, reflected in his eyes before she took justice.

But Harvey couldn't know that. No one could.

So she forced herself to lighten her tone, making herself joke with him like she had before Jonathan took her away. "Yeah, you want to flip a coin to see who leads?" she scoffed tauntingly.

"It's my father's lucky coin," Harvey protested, obviously encouraged by her warmer attitude. "As I recall, it got me my first date with you."

Rachel barely remembered. "I wouldn't leave something like that up to chance," she cut him off. She was so tired of this façade, but she needed no one to suspect anything. If she was going to leave again, and permanently this time, no one could suspect. Not Harvey, and especially not Bruce.

"I don't. I make my own luck," Harvey replied confidently, flipping the coin in the air and revealing it to her. Heads.

She rolled her eyes, as the judge arrived and they stood, and the court was in officially in session.

She pretended to be horrified when their witness turned on them, then pulled a gun on Harvey. Maroni got off, but then half the jury was already in his pocket anyway.

Afterwards, Rachel clung close to Harvey, pretending to comfort him, suggesting they take the day off, relieved when he said he'd dragged Jim Gordon down from MCU.

She was beyond relieved. She didn't know what she'd have done if he'd said yes to her offer.

* * *

She felt a little bad for misleading Harvey. Some part of her still cared for him, but she belonged to Jonathan. She had done since their eyes had met across a courtroom two years ago.

Before her feelings for him were awakened by the fear toxin, Harvey was everything Rachel could have wished for. She had already come to the conclusion that Bruce would likely be Batman until the day he died, and that he would always need that mask to channel his pain and his rage, much the same way she was forced to do so now, only really existing when she wore the mask of the Wolf.

But now, Rachel was caught, body and mind, in the clutches of the Master of Fear, and she didn't want to break free. She only wished Harvey didn't have to get hurt.

He was truly a good man, but not the man for her. Not anymore.

"Oh, Jim Gordon? He's a friend actually. Try to be nice," she slapped him playfully, and walked off, relieved to be able to drop the façade for a few minutes as she slipped into the women's restroom and locked the door of her cubicle, resting her head against the cool plastic barrier. She longed for Jonathan's touch, his kiss.

_Not long now…only a few hours…_

It already felt like a lifetime to Rachel.


End file.
